Just Partners
by Thnx4theCatsPjs
Summary: A round-robin fic by the writing team of Thnx4theGum and GreysIsTheCatsPajamas. A Booth and Brennan adventure that picks up in the bar after Crosshairs.
1. Coming Clean

Coming Clean

They chuckled together for a few seconds longer, neither knowing quite what to say but each enjoying the company. Booth leaned back, feeling as if he'd regained his equilibrium when it came to his partner.

She looked over at him from above her wine glass, "Do you think Broadsky knows who fired at him?"

Booth took a swig of his beer, wishing he'd picked something stronger before nodding slowly, "He knows. I told him if I could I would take the shot."

"You've spoken with him," she concluded immediately, eyebrows rising toward her hairline. "When? Why didn't you tell me?"

He let out a long sigh, knowing at once why he'd waited until now to tell her, but not knowing how to explain it. One hand moved to cup his neck while the other fiddled with the beer bottle until his eyes found the strength to meet hers.

"Broadsky came to my place," even those words were hard to get out but he pressed on. "After work last night."

"Why?" her eyes were wide with concern.

"The Marshall who killed herself meant something to him," Booth's eyes dropped to the counter. "He wanted to make sure I knew who he was blaming."

Her long fingers slid around his forearm, sending his nerve endings buzzing, and there was a fervor in her voice, "Paula Ashwaldt committed suicide, Booth."

"Because I confronted her," he couldn't quite keep the bitterness at bay any more than he could meet her eyes again.

"No," Brennan was adamant. "No, Booth, you can't let Broadsky make you feel guilty for a person's actions that you had no control over. Ashwaldt made her own decisions just as Broadsky has made his. You aren't culpable for either one of their actions. You're not."

"Thanks, Bones," his head raised, buoyed by her words. He set a hand on top of hers and gave it a squeeze, "You're a good partner."

She flinched, ever-so-slightly, but he caught it and something shifted between the two of them, though he couldn't tell what it was. Brennan felt it too and after a hurried assurance that she would always be his partner she slipped her hand away, robbing his arm of the warmth.

Booth cursed inwardly for taking things too far, convincing himself this was further evidence she was trying to move on from any feelings she may have felt at one time. She didn't deserve to be saddled with regret; didn't deserve to be saddled to a guy like him who could just barely keep it together on the good days. He realized, though, he couldn't afford to lose her friendship either. Not now. Maybe not ever.

"We're a good team," he threw on a more confidant smile than what he was feeling. "He's not going to beat us, Bones."

"No," he saw the fire reignite in her eyes as she took the challenge. "We will catch him and bring him to justice."

And just like that the tension between them was dispelled as they found a battle they could fight together.

"Booth."

"Yeah, Bones?"

"If I were you, I would change my locks."


	2. Silent Running

Silent Running

**Two weeks later-**

A good, long, morning run was exactly what Brennan needed today, and the sun rose in the east sending its sparks of color into the sky, and Brennan breathed heavily and came to a stop at the edge of the mall. The grass was short and worn, the dirt was still damp. The sidewalks were empty of many people, though there were joggers here and there throughout her normal path for jogging. She felt refreshed and a little out of breath, popping her ear buds from her ears, she sighed and looked around, trying to decide which route she'd take today.

She had only recently taken to running in the morning, finding the music to be soothing to her nerves, and the time was utilized well, giving her an opportunity to think and organize her day more readily. When she jogged, she was focused. Focused on breathing, focused on the steps ahead, and focused on her ultimate goal. She rarely noticed anyone on the trail; dissolving into her own world of breaths and steps, and it was early enough where there was typically nobody else around. She found peace in the activity, and it made her feel healthier and less stressed.

Today was a typical Wednesday, and there seemed to be less people on the trail than usual. When she pushed the ear buds back into her ears, she looked to the time on her phone and then continued on her way quickly. Her pace was easy and steady, and she moved with the music for the most part. She ran with ease and comfort down the sidewalk and wondered for a moment if she should continue on to work, or keep running for just a little longer. She had time before her day would officially start, and her stress level had been relinquished drastically. She thought as she jogged, weighing the options in her mind, and she decided that it would be best if she made her way to work now. That way she'd be able to get a fresh start on her work for the day. Her eyes focused in the distance, the coffee cart not far from where she was jogging, she smiled and ran toward it, knowing she'd have to cross the street to make it there, she glanced both directions and slowed as she reached the intersection. When she saw that it was safe to cross, she paused for a moment before continuing.

She was just stepping out into the street, and the loud music in her ears blocked the sound of the screeching tires of the car coming around the corner. She looked up just when most would assume it was too late, and with a great force, she was pushed forward, launching her hard into the pavement, her knee slamming into the asphalt. She let out a yelp of pain as she yanked the ear buds from her ears, prepared to yell at the person who had slammed into her so hard.

In her shocked daze, she saw the out of control car swerving violently down the road from where she had just been standing a moment before, and Brennan scrambled to her feet. She made it to the sidewalk, out of breath and out of patience, looking around for the person who had pushed her to safety, away from the oncoming car. She saw a man several yards away, walking quickly away from where she was standing, a black hoodie blocking her view of his face, he started to jog away.

She looked down at herself and saw the blood seeping from the scrape on her leg, her leggings destroyed from the impact on the pavement, and her hands raw from catching herself against the asphalt. Her heart was still beating hard in her chest. She was shaken up and could feel her stomach twisting, and just seeing the coffee cart in the distance made her feel nauseous. She reached her hand up to her arm, to pull her phone from the harness on which it was situated, and noticed in a sudden surge of panic that in her scramble for her life, and in the heat of the moment, the person who had moments ago saved her life, had also stolen her cell phone, and now he was gone.


	3. Just A Coincidence?

Once she had made it back to her apartment, her first phone call had been to Cam, letting her know that she would be running behind that morning, and though she left no details to her tardiness, Cam didn't seem to question it. Her next phone call was to DC police, to inform them of her mugging. She made a statement over her home phone, and then called her cell phone company to inform them of the theft as well.

As Brennan winced from the pain from cleaning the scrape on her leg, she mentally chastised herself for putting herself in a vulnerable position on her run. The scrape wasn't as bad as it felt, though if she had been paying attention in the first place, it could have been avoided. When the scrape was clean, she put a bandage over it to keep it from rubbing against her suit pants, and quickly dressed for work.

Nobody questioned her morning absence, so there was no need to explain her earlier incident, and she quickly retreated to her office. Since they hadn't been given another case just yet, Brennan worked at her desk for most of the afternoon, answering emails and catching up on some tasks that she hadn't been expecting. Typically, her cell phone sat beside her on the desk, and the silence of it not being there didn't bother her, in fact it had the opposite effect. The potential for interruption was erased from her mind, and she didn't realize the time until she heard a sharp knock at her office door. She looked up to see an obviously rattled Booth push through the open doorway.

"Good, you're not dead."

Her face scrunched in confusion. "No."

"Aren't you going to ask me why I would say something so ridiculous, when you're obviously sitting right here in front of me at your desk?" He asked, walking toward the desk. He leaned on it with his hands, looking down at her.

"I assume you're being humorous." She said, not looking up. "Though, I detect from your tone that you're not attempting to be humorous."

"Nice deduction, Bones." He said.

He was silent now, though he continued to lean on her desk, she followed his arm up to his face, and his eyes showed how irritated he really was. "You look angry."

"Angry? No. Worried? Yes." He snapped.

"Worried about what? You sound angry."

"Your phone, Bones. Where is your cell phone?"

"It was stolen." She said, writing something down on the paper in front of her.

"Stolen? When? What happened?"

"I was accosted this morning while I was jogging. The man knocked me over, and stole my phone. It's not a big deal, I've reported it to the police, and I've had the service to it disconnected."

"And you didn't think to call me too?"

"Why would I call you? It was a simple mugging, not a federal investigation, Booth."

"Did you get hurt?" Booth asked.

"I have mild abrasions on my knee, and on my palms, but I'll be fine. I didn't need any medical assistance."

"You should have called me."

"It wasn't necessary." She replied, and then gave him a scrutinizing look. "Why did you come all the way over here, if you thought I was dead? Why didn't you just simply call my office phone?" She asked.

"You know, whoever took your phone has your schedule, now…" Booth said, ignoring her question. "This is not a good thing, Bones."

"I suspended my wireless account, Booth. I am fairly sure that some hoodlum who stole my phone has no idea who I am, and has no interest in my scheduled gynecologist appointment next week."

"Bones! Too much information… too much, too much." He said, turning around, he started pacing.

"Booth, I think you're really making something out of nothing here." Brennan said, watching the worried look on his face. He turned and looked at her for a moment. "I really do."

"What if this is bigger than you're making it out to be? What if you're not taking this seriously enough? What did the guy look like?"

"I didn't get a good look at him, I wasn't paying attention, and I was nearly hit by an oncoming car. He pushed me out of the way, and when I managed to stand back up, my phone was gone, and the man was gone as well. I can only deduce that he grabbed it when he pushed me to the ground."

"Wait." Booth said. "So, not only were you mugged, you almost got hit by a car too?" Booth asked, leaning back on the desk, he narrowed his eyes. "And you're going to tell me that the two incidents were not related?"

Brennan stood up, facing her partner head on, she leaned forward on the desk as well. She looked him directly in the eye and raised an eyebrow. "I think that you and Hodgins may have more in common than you might think." She said, standing up straight, she started to walk around the desk toward the door.

"What is that supposed to mean?" He asked, watching her exit the office, he waited for her to stop. "Bones, come here, I'm serious." He said, walking quickly after her through the lab.


	4. Angry Birds

He was still calling her name as she strode through the lab on her way to the platform, doing her best to ignore, or at least not react to him. It wasn't working well.

"I'm fine," she finally broke, whirling around to face him. "People get," she looked around at the small audience they were amassing and decided discretion was best, "tickled all of the time." She said, raising both eyebrows to indicate that she was choosing to speak in code rather than simply blurting out her ordeal that morning for all to hear.

That stopped him dead in his tracks, eyebrows rising, then falling as he caught on and hissed back, "Sure but how many people get tickled by the person trying to save them?"

She shrugged, tossing her original argument over her shoulder as she climbed the platform steps, "It was an unfortunate coincidence." She said, swiping her card at the top of the steps, she quickly walked around the metal table away from his quickly approaching figure.

He swiped his own card, continuing the pursuit, "What have I told you about coincidences, Bones?"

"I was tickled, not translated, Booth," she shot back.

He stopped for a moment, trying to regain his train of thought when he touched her arm to get her attention. He was very aware of the eyes on both of them, and though they were all well aware of the lack of personal space displayed between the partners, they still found it amusing to watch. "I'm serious, Bones. The near hit, the tickling, it rattles me the wrong way."

"I have taken your concerns under consideration."

"And?"

"And while I appreciate your concerns, I find that they're unsubstantiated."

"What if someone is trying to translate you?" He whispered, his eyes daring her to argue.

"Then why would they save me?"

He had no response for her argument, just a sick twisting feeling in his stomach that he couldn't quite explain. "You think I'm over reacting."

"I think that your knowledge of me being tickled has caused you some distress, and while I respect and appreciate your concern, I can assure you, that if I experience any communication out of the ordinary, I will speak with you."

"You'll call me?"

"If that will alleviate your concerns. Yes, I will call you." She said, looking over the remains on the table, she glanced to him and then back to the table.

For a moment his posture relaxed and he looked as if he were going to drop the matter altogether, then he looked up at her and questioned, "What phone are you going to use?"

That caught her off guard if only for a second before she looked up from the ancient remains on the table and replied, "I'll be getting a new phone after work." He nodded but still seemed somewhat agitated so she offered, "Would you like to accompany me? To insure that no further tickling incidents will occur?"

At that, his entire frame relaxed and he nodded, "I would. Thanks. When will you be done with King Tut, here?"

She consulted the clock on the wall and estimated, "Six-fifteen. And this _woman _is from the mid-to-later second century AD."

"Right," Booth nodded with a small, smarmy grin, "I'll be here at six. And we're grabbing dinner too. Don't leave without me."

His playful tone belied the more serious nature of the situation in his mind, which she caught from his body language, but she returned the sentiment in kind and wished him a good rest of the afternoon. As soon as Booth's retreating form exited the sliding door to the lab she quickly called everyone's attention back to the work at hand; ignoring the scene that had just played out as if determined not to let it detract from her work.

* * *

"So how was work, Bones?" Booth asked as they waited in the diner for their order to arrive.

"Very productive, actually," she smiled congenially, then smirked. "Despite some minor interruptions I was able to accomplish quite a bit. How was yours?"

He gave her a lopsided grin, "Outside of having to run some errands, I can't complain."

They exchanged a smile, their eye contact only broken as the waitress set down their food, though even then it didn't spoil the playful mood. The light banter between them continued as they ate, ranging from the route he'd chosen to take on the drive there to the fries she tried to surreptitiously swipe when he wasn't looking.

"Angela was rather amused with our conversation this afternoon," Brennan offered.

"I'm sure she was," Booth chuckled.

"She kept asking if there were any pickles involved that needed tickling," her brow wrinkled at this.

The soda he'd been drinking burned up his nasal passages and sprayed the table in front of him as he failed to hold back a laugh.

"I'm presuming from your reaction that Angela was employing a double entendre?" she arched an eyebrow.

He tried desperately to regain control of his breathing but managed only a nod before a fit of coughs wracked his chest. His laughter quickly turned to embarrassment as he attempted to control himself.

"I have found that many things Angela says are sexual in nature," Brennan casually observed.

"Can we change the subject?" Booth choked out.

She agreed, though unfortunately for Booth chose to ask, "Since you've decided that I need a personal bodyguard, will you be joining me at my gynecologist appointment tomorrow as well?"

"You know what?" he spluttered, gesturing to the area around him. "This, right here, is a no sex talk zone. None. Got it?"

"Is this 'no sex talk zone' similar to Sweets' truth zone?" she wondered out loud.

"Sort of," he said, happy she was grasping the concept. "But just not talking about, you know..."

"Sex," she filled in as he trailed off. "Though to be accurate you should include genitals as well, since gynecologists fall more into that category than the topic of sexual intercourse."

What Booth really wanted right at that moment, was for a hole to open up underneath them and swallow him up, a feeling that doubled as their waitress came back to retrieve their plates, wearing a very curious expression.

"Will you be having any dessert?" the girl asked.

"Nope," a mortified Booth said quickly, grabbing a twenty from his wallet and standing up. "No. That'll be all for us, thanks."

Brennan shrugged at the waitress, who was thrilled with the more than generous tip Booth had just given her, and followed her partner out the door asking, "Don't you want pie?"

"I'm good," he shook his head, focused now on getting to his car as fast as he possibly could.

"Is it because of Sweets' pie analogy?" she pressed, her voice a bit louder since the traffic around them had increased the noise level.

"Huh?" he couldn't help the confusion, though instantly regretted asking.

"If our table at the diner is now a sex-free zone, it would follow that you might not want to have pie for dessert, as Sweets sees your attempts to get me to eat pie with you as being sexual in nature," she had to walk faster as he sped up, and the faster she walked, the louder she became to ensure that he heard each and every one of her words.

"Bones!" he groaned, turning around with an agitated look, he tossed his hands up into the air in an exasperated gesture.

"What?" she protested. "You can't declare the sidewalk to be a sex-free zone as well."

This brought them more than a few stares from passersby. He simply turned and stalked toward his car, offering up a prayer of thanks when they finally reached his car and he ushered her in, "Let's just talk about something else, okay? Like maybe what kind of phone you're going to get."

"What's wrong with my Windows phone?" she wanted to know.

"You're kidding right?" he asked. "It takes you like an hour to read one text message on that thing."

She gave him a long-suffering look, which he returned and she answered with a glare. In a clipped tone she gave him directions to the phone store she dealt with and the remainder of the trip was spent in uncomfortable silence, save for the radio.

"Look, Bones," he said as he pulled into the parking lot, "I really don't want to fight with you, okay?"

His eyes were pleading with hers to understand, and knowing him, she could see he meant only to help, however annoying that might be. A simple downward flick of her chin was all that was needed to restore the harmony between them, and they got out and entered the store.

The only small disagreement that came up afterward was on the matter of her keeping her number. She argued she needed it for her business contacts while he argued it would leave her more vulnerable to whoever had stolen her phone in the first place. In the end, she had gotten her way, and despite the stress of the situation, they walked from the store as happy customers.

"Ooh look," Booth said excitedly, playing with her new phone as they walked toward the ar, "you've got Angry Birds on here. Parker loves Angry Birds!"

"Uh huh," Brennan arched an eyebrow, suspecting Parker wasn't the only one. She had no idea what he was talking about, but from the excitement in his voice, and the intensity of his stare on the phone, she could only assume it was some kind of game he was speaking of.

A tone sounded from the phone, and Brennan glanced to her partner.

"Your first text message," Booth's boyish grin was infectious as he handed it over to her. "It's probably just the store making sure that it works." He said, watching her brow furrow as she stared at the phone for a long second. "What is it, Bones?" He asked.

She looked up at him with a slightly confused stare, but hid her confusion quickly with a lopsided smile. "Nothing, just a wrong number." She said, shrugging it off. "Here." She said, handing the phone over to him. "Play your angry parrot game…"

"Birds, Bones." Booth corrected her with a laugh, as he stared at the device the rest of the way to the car. "Angry birds."


	5. Pie Is Fine

Brennan pulled her car into its parking space and sat for a moment, glancing into the rear view mirror, she waited for the car that had been behind her to pass, and pulled out her phone. She scrolled through a couple of screens, and pressed the button for her text messages, bringing up the message that she had gotten earlier from a blocked number.

**'pie is fine'**

Her brow furrowed at the sentence, not knowing what it meant, she could only imagine that it had been a wrong number. It seemed to be a benign enough message, so she turned off the screen. She was just about to put it into her bag, when the phone began to scream a loud and brain rattling tune that she didn't recognize. The sound alone made her jump, and her heart pounded fiercely in her chest. She saw the goofy picture of Booth that he had taken of himself when he was playing with her phone, displaying to let her know he was calling. She glared playfully as she pushed the 'accept' button. "Is it really necessary for you to be calling me right now?" She asked.

"I just wanted to make sure that you made it home alright."

She couldn't help but allow her body to relax at his words, and a small smile crept onto her lips. "I am home, yes."

"And alright?"

"Yes."

"Good." He replied. "Did you like the ring tone?" He asked, the smile evident in his voice, she let out a resigned sigh.

"It was," She paused. "Loud." She said, "Very you, though the display photo that you took of yourself isn't exactly flattering." She said, smiling when she heard him scoff.

"Whatever, Bones. Have a good night."

"You too, Booth." She replied. "Booth?"

"Hm…?"

"Thank you for your concern."

"Anytime, Bones. See you tomorrow." He said, letting the phone disconnect.

She smiled again at the photo of her partner on the screen before it disappeared, and then slipped the phone back into her bag. She was just closing her car door when a car came speeding down the street, forcing her to jump back into the side of her car. She turned her head to see the tail lights of the car just as it turned the corner, the tires squealing against the pavement.

Her heart was pounding in her chest, and her hand went instinctively to her bag, she could feel the phone through the canvas material and gritted her teeth angrily. She tried to control her pounding heart as she turned and walked toward the building, and her apartment.

* * *

Once in the safety of her apartment, she locked the door and dropped her bag beside the table. She then disappeared into her bedroom to start a relaxing bath. The scrape on her knee was aching, and all she wanted to do was soak her body in a warm, sweet smelling bath, and clean away the stress of the day.

She turned the warm water on and prepared the water with bath oil of her choosing, something she knew would help make her feel much more relaxed than she was currently feeling. It had been enough to nearly be hit by a car that morning, but when a similar incident happened that evening, it unnerved her. She disrobed and pulled the bandage from her knee, looking closely at the damaged skin as she discarded the bandage. She wrapped herself in her terrycloth robe and walked out to find a book to amuse her while she bathed.

First, she poured herself a glass of red wine, a fine, soft vintage that never failed to give her just a little bit of a hum, while relaxing her muscles in the process. She moved toward the counter and picked up the book she was currently in the middle of reading, and flipped open to the marked page. Just as she turned, she heard a tune from her bag, indicating that she had received a text message. She rolled her eyes and sighed, expecting the text to come from none other than her overprotective partner. When she pulled the phone from her bag, however, she was surprised to see that it was a text from a private number. Her throat became dry suddenly, and she could sense the anxiety creeping up from her stomach. She pressed the button to read the message and held her breath as the message appeared on the screen.

**'wine is sweet'**

Her bottom lip slipped into her mouth as her mind worked through the words, wondering if there was any meaning to either message. She wanted to message the person back, tell them that they had made a mistake, but because the number was private, there was no way for her to reply. She wandered toward the window, her eyes focusing on the street below for a moment, looking down at the cars on the street. She focused on one that seemed a bit out of place. It was a silver car, the arm of man showing from the open window. The lights were off, but he was sitting silently in the car as if he were waiting for something. Her eyes went to her phone, and she tried to decide if she was simply paranoid about the man in the car, or if she had cause to be concerned. She watched him for another moment or two, allowing her pounding heart to return to normal, and she held her finger on the call button with her partner's number. There was no indication that she was being watched, no indication that she was in danger, just a text from a wrong number.

She jumped when her phone indicated another text message, and she pushed the button to receive it.

**'it won't be long, until we meet.'**


	6. Hide And Seek

**Chapter 6: Hide and Seek**

Her breaths came in short, rapid bursts and her heart rate elevated to where she could hear it pounding in her ears. Somehow through the pounding, she heard the sound of running water and for some reason the simple task of turning it off gave her the focus she needed to start moving again. Placing one shaky foot in front of the other and wincing slightly at her exposed wound, she made her way back to the bathroom – wine sloshing in the glass in her hand, the stem gripped tightly. She set her phone and the wine on the small table beside her bathtub, and turned the knobs.

The silence that engulfed her was deafening, the moist air cloyingly heavy, as she contemplated what her next course of action should be. The wine glass stared mockingly at her, daring her to drink it, and in an impulsive move she scooped it up, downing its contents in several large gulps. She set the glass firmly on the table, pulled the robe from her body, tossed it aside, and sank into the depths of the warm, oily water.

Pain from her leg and a few small cuts on her hand made her hiss, but they lasted only seconds in the warm water, and the wine haze was already closing in. At least, she thought it was, as she leaned her head back to rest against the back wall of the tub, her fear was abating. The water was effectively relieving her taut muscles while the wine allowed her to detach from those emotions that could cloud her judgment.

As a famous author as well as a scientist who was unafraid to tackle controversial topics in her published findings, Brennan was somewhat accustomed to being threatened by those who were threatened by her. Physical threats were fairly common as well in her journeys overseas and she'd had her fair share of altercations. She was confident enough in herself to know she had the mental acumen and physical strength necessary to deal with such threats on her own; a confidence that had been bolstered during her time in Maluku.

_Pie is fine / Wine is sweet / It won't be long until we meet._

She allowed the words of the crude rhyme to echo in her mind, mulling over their possible meaning, as well as who could be behind it. The obvious suspect, of course, was her pseudo-rescuer, who had access to her phone number and could easily have discovered where she lived. Brennan still wasn't certain whether the theft had been spontaneous or carefully timed to occur while she was distracted by the near collision with the oncoming car.

Presuming the two incidents were separate, the other suspect she came up with was the driver of the car. That act, at least, she could define as deliberate. Her mind scrambled to recall the driver's face, perhaps a distinguishing quality that would also be able to link them to the car that had tried to run her down in her own parking lot. The effort was fruitless, however, and left her more frustrated than she had been before.

The cell phone's harsh chime heralded yet another text message from the counter and after wiping her hands on the closest towel to her, she stretched out and warily looked at the screen. What greeted her was an alpha-numeric combination that made no sense to her whatsoever, but which came from yet another blocked number.

All of the soothing effects of the bath evaporated and a curse escaped her lips as she punched the screen with her finger and without another thought dialed Booth's number. It seemed like an eternity passed until he picked up the phone, his voice thick with sleep.

"I'm sorry," Brennan suddenly felt bad for intruding on Booth's sleep and she felt foolish for calling him to settle her fears; rational or irrational. "I shouldn't have called so late. We can talk tomorrow."

"Bones?" he identified her, a note of concern evident.

Calling him had been a mistake, she chastised herself. It had been wholly unnecessary and not in keeping with the terms she'd agreed to when he had accepted her back as his partner that night at the Founding Fathers.

"It's nothing," she tried to convince him. "Honestly, Booth. I'll talk to you in the morning. Goodbye."

She could hear him start to say something, but she'd already taken the phone away from her ear and before she could be drawn into a conversation with him she terminated the connection. Sighing, she set the phone aside, sinking into the now tepid water, wondering what she should do next when she heard the beckoning call of the doorbell.

B&B&B&B&B&B&B

Booth hadn't liked finding out that his partner had been mugged and almost run over by a car. He hadn't liked that she'd brushed off his concerns that she was in danger. He hadn't liked that she'd insisted on keeping the same phone number. He _really_ hadn't liked that she hadn't allowed him to take her home and make sure everything was safe there.

At the same time, he didn't want to push her and drive her further from him. They were just starting to regain their equilibrium as partners and the last thing he wanted to do was screw that up. Still, it was against his nature to do nothing while his gut screamed at him that something stank, so he'd called up an off-duty cop buddy of his to keep an eye on her overnight, then waited until he knew she'd be home and called her. He'd breathed a sigh of relief when he had talked to her, finding that she had made it home and was safe and chuckled at her comment about his picture.

What he couldn't shake was the feeling that she was hiding something from him. He first had this feeling outside the phone shop, and again when he had called to ensure she had gotten home. It rankled him that she thought she had to shoulder whatever was bothering her on her own but once again, their history was enough for him to know he would have to wait for her to come to him before he could push for anything.

After a couple of beers and a Flyers' game that was going nowhere, he thought about calling her again, but talked himself out of it. She was probably in bed anyway. He settled in for the rest of the game.

The next thing he knew, he was waking up in a darkened room, TV blaring away while a faint ringing came from under a discarded potato chip bag.

"'llo," he mumbled, really hoping he didn't have a body to go to, yet at the same time wanting the excuse to see his partner again.

Whoever was on the other end was breathing fast and after a long moment of silence said, "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have called so late. We can talk tomorrow."

He didn't need caller ID to tell him it was Bones and she seemed rattled about something, almost scared. It was the opening he'd been waiting for, but before he could press she mumbled a quick goodbye and hung up on him. He sat up and launched his phone across the room and began debating with himself about what to do next.

A minute later he'd retrieved his phone and was talking to his buddy Jim, who assured him that Brennan was safe inside her apartment and that no one suspicious was lurking around. That soothed him for a few minutes. These minutes which he spent working through the events of the day through his mind, and each time he thought he would find a solution, a seed of doubt would blossom in its stead, thicker and more nefarious than the last. After about fifteen minutes, he found himself pacing his living room like a caged tiger.

He should never have let her go home alone tonight. He should've been the one insisting. He should've been there to help her face whatever she was facing and protect her from whatever hornet's nest she'd stepped into this morning.

Abruptly, he made a decision. Clicking off the TV, he traded his sweats for jeans, pulled his jacket over the ratty Flyers' t-shirt, and grabbed his gun from the safe behind the fake books. It took him a few minutes to root through the bowl Parker had made for him for Father's Day last year to find her key and then he was off.

Ten minutes later he was in her building, willing the elevator to take him to her floor as quickly as possible.

"Bones!" he called, first ringing the doorbell, and then simply pounding on the door. "Bones, it's me. I know you're in there!"

He paused for a moment as silence greeted him, and he tried to decide if she'd had enough time to fall asleep since calling him. He figured she hadn't, so he started pounding again, calling her name and telling her to answer the door. When he still got nothing, he warned her he was coming in and slipped the key in the lock. The deadbolt clicked open and he turned the knob to admit himself.

"Bones!" he called into the darkened room, really hoping she wasn't asleep.

He flicked on the light and scanned the room. A bottle of wine sat on the counter, empty.

"Bones!"

The blanket that usually rested on the back of her couch lay in a rumpled heap on the floor.

"BONES!"

He pulled his gun out, keeping it in front of him as he moved down the hallway. A peek into her bedroom revealed the bed to be newly made, pajamas laid out but untouched. The bathroom door was ajar and he nudged it all the way open with his foot.

When the light came on, his stomach dropped. Her glass was empty of wine. Her tub was filled with water. But there was no trace of her – or her new phone – anywhere.


	7. Tag, You're It

**Chapter 7: Tag,You're it**

Oxygen was suddenly in high demand, as any that had been there previously had been thoroughly sucked from the room. The scene before him was one he had frequently witnessed time and time again, but he quickly discarded that thought. He needed to remain in control, he needed to find a base level for his paranoia, and calm his nerves. His eyes skated over his partner's bathroom, the empty glass, the tub full of water, why would she just simply leave everything like this, and simply vanish.

Booth could hear the anxiety laden reverberation of her voice, shaky and unsure before she had cut herself off and hung up on him. He knew something was frightening her, he knew something had caused her to call him, and he was grateful that instead of an abrupt hang up, it had simply been an apology.

He reached for his pocket for his phone, letting out a grunted curse when he realized it wasn't with him, he called out for her once or twice more, just to make sure he hadn't been persistent enough before. Just to make sure he hadn't missed her in his tirade through her apartment. There was a split second where he found himself relieved that she wasn't there, for if she knew the extent of his search, she probably wouldn't be nearly as pleased to be found, as he would have been to have found her.

Booth glanced to the clock on the wall, noting that it was nearly midnight, and though he was internally panicking, he attempted to put everything into perspective. He attempted to chronologically place the events of the day without allowing the morning's scare to permeate his thought processes. He focused on the lack of concern that Brennan seemed to have of the situation, and though Booth would admit to himself that it seemed random, he had a twisting gut that wouldn't let him forget about it. Booth began to pace in the living room, his eyes raking over the empty wine bottle, the blanket on the floor, the curtain that was pushed aside.

He walked toward the window quickly, and focused on the street below. The first thing he wanted to know, was why Jim's car wasn't on the street. He had said he would be watching her place, and when Booth had spoken to him nearly an hour ago, he had indicated that everything was fine. In less than a second, the apartment was locked, and he was on his way down the stairs, he had no interest in waiting for the elevator. He needed to get moving, otherwise he would dwell on his personal anxieties and not the task at hand. The sound of his feet slamming into the steps, echoed through the empty stairwell, competing with the sound of his beating heart.

His fist slammed into the metal door bar, letting himself out onto the street, the sharp clang of the door hitting the wall behind it made him jump as he looked both ways down the street. There was no sign of Jim, no sign of anyone, really at this time of night walking the streets. He walked down the sidewalk and around the building toward the parking spaces he knew that Brennan always used, and there, in its usual spot, sat her Prius. He walked toward it and peered into the window, not having any clue of what he expected to find, it was simply empty. A sigh of irritation escaped his lips and the pounding of his heart in his ears was becoming louder and more pronounced with each step as he nearly jogged back to his SUV.

His first goal was to find his phone, and as he scoured the different crevices in the SUV, he came across the phone's battery, lodged between the seat and the center console, and the phone itself was sitting on the dashboard. The moment he lifted it from its resting place, he remembered the last time he had used it. Apparently, he had forgotten that as he pulled up to Brennan's building, phone in hand as he dialed her number for the tenth time, he had become frustrated and threw it against the dashboard. He cursed himself again, throwing the remains of his phone against the floor of the SUV and climbed into the driver's seat, wondering if she had somehow made her way toward the lab. It wasn't completely out of the realm of possibility that she'd take a cab, having realized she had left something on, or running, or perhaps simply felt anxious, or worried about something. Booth tried to calm his quickly fraying nerves with those positive thoughts, as he drove toward the lab.

Once at the Jeffersonian, he used his security clearance to get inside, and stalked through the doors hoping that he would see her light burning in the distance. The only lights on in the lab, however was the dimmed security lights, and her office was dark. He felt his heart drop into his stomach, and his stomach twist in an excruciating knot. He felt light headed all of a sudden, and walked quickly toward her office, where he stepped inside and flicked on the lights as he entered. He grabbed her phone from her desk and paused, wondering if he should call in the cavalry, or call someone who may have seen her, talked to her that evening. He quickly dialed Jim's number, and gritted his teeth angrily as he waited.

His friend's voice came over the line thick and irritated. "Hey." Booth said, though what he really wanted to say would not have been nearly as nice of a greeting.

"Booth?" Jim grumbled into the line. "What do you want now?"

"I thought you were keeping an eye on Bones for me, where the hell are you? She's not home." He said, purposefully controlling his voice. He didn't need his emotions to give away anything. He didn't need his emotions to take control.

"I did keep an eye on her, then she left."

"She left?"

"Yeah…"

"When did she leave?"

"Not long after you talked to me… Didn't you call someone to come get her?"

"No. Jim, who did she leave with?"

"Booth. You asked me to keep an eye on your partner when I had a chance, I'm not following her through the city, and I'm not about to do background checks on every person that steps into her…"

"Was it a man or a woman, dumbass?"

"A woman… pretty pregnant woman."

"Angela." Booth grumbled. "Thanks, Jimmy, thanks for keeping an eye on her."

"No problem." Jim paused. "You seem pretty rattled. You okay?"

"Fine. Thanks again." Booth said, finally allowing himself that sigh of relief as he slammed down the receiver, and sat down hard on the couch, letting his nerves slowly calm, and for his stomach to untie the excruciating knots that it had been twisting into.


	8. Unlocked And Loaded

**Chapter 8: Unlocked and Loaded**

"Are you sure you don't want me to walk you up, Sweetie?" Angela offered. "Even though I'm the size of a barge I can still spit with deadly accuracy."

The two women shared a laugh at that, but Brennan shook her head, "I'll be fine, but thank you for your concern."

"Hey, any time you want to crash at our place you're more than welcome," the artist assured her. "You know Jack and I love you, right?" She waited for Brennan to nod then added, "And you're going to tell Booth what's going on, right?"

Brennan grimaced at the thought but nodded. She'd gotten enough missed calls from Booth to know her impulsive call had more than likely set his already heightened nerves on edge and while she hadn't wanted to disturb his sleep this morning, she was planning on calling him when she got to the office.

"I will tell him," she assured Angela. Then she softened momentarily as she stood just outside the passenger door, "Thank you for stopping by to check on me last night, Angela. Although it was completely unnecessary and your fears for my safety were unfounded, I do appreciate the sentiment."

"Be safe, Bren," Angela admonished. "And call Booth if you get any more creepy texts."

With one final nod, Brennan shouldered the small overnight bag she'd hurriedly packed when Angela had declared she wasn't spending another minute alone in her apartment that night, and strode up the walk way to her apartment building. To her relief, the strange car that had been visible from her window was nowhere to be seen and she began mentally making a list of tasks she needed to finish today.

She was thankful for the empty elevator that carried her up, and for the empty hallway as well, though the tiniest part of her was disappointed not to find Booth waiting outside her door with coffee and a bag of unhealthy pastries demanding an explanation. Burying that thought deeper, she turned her key in the lock and pushed the door open.

At once she dropped her bag and made a beeline for the bathroom, thankful that Angela hadn't delayed her any further. It was only as she stood at the sink, washing her hands that she began to sense something wasn't right. The mirror reflected the entire room back to her and she studied it carefully for a moment before whirling around suddenly.

The bathtub was empty.

Not only that, it was dry.

And her wine glass was gone.

With great clarity, she recalled getting out of the tub when the doorbell had rung, donning a bathrobe, and peering through the peephole to see who was there. She'd half expected to see Booth and had been pleasantly surprised to see Angela's face instead. After exchanging greetings, Angela had explained she'd been worried about her friend since the cryptic conversation she'd witnessed between Brennan and Booth that afternoon, and had decided to come over and check on her friend and have some girl talk.

Brennan had been unable to mask all of her emotions from the turbulent day and the unnerving evening. In what seemed like no time, Angela had pried the truth out of her and was insistent that Brennan come with her immediately. She'd barely had enough time to throw an overnight bag together before Angela had threatened to literally drag her from the apartment.

Now, standing in her bathroom, a chill worked its way up her spine as she remembered she hadn't even had time to empty the tub or put away her glass. Unless Angela had done so while Brennan had packed, someone had been in her home. Quickly, she shut off the running water in the sink, not even taking time to dry her hands as she moved to the living room.

Once in the other room, she realized what she hadn't noticed when she'd come in. The curtains that she had left open, had been closed, and the blanket on her couch that was askew was now folded neatly on the cushion. There were other, more subtle differences, such as her computer, which had been moved to a different side of the coffee table, and a discarded napkin on the floor. Her feet carried her into the kitchen where she noticed the missing wine glass upside-down in her dish drainer. A few steps later, she confirmed that the empty wine bottle had been stowed beside the sink, and upon inspection of her refrigerator, she noticed that her neat arrangement of containers had been disturbed.

A dull thud reached her ears from one of the bedrooms and she stood stock still for only a moment before reaching underneath her sink to her hidden gun locker. Her loaded weapon heavy in her hand, she mentally prepared herself to face whoever was in the apartment. Her eyes fell to the phone she'd abandoned on the counter and she thought about her promise to Angela.

Whoever was here obviously didn't realize she had returned, which meant she still had time to call Booth for backup. She knew without a doubt he would be angry and sullen if he were to discover she'd attempted to take on a potentially dangerous intruder on her own. At the same time, she knew that it would take several minutes for Booth to arrive, at which point the window of opportunity could be gone.

She would apologize to him later.

Renewing her grip on the gun, she steeled herself and made her way down her hallway, listening for any noise. A floorboard underneath her left foot creaked and she winced. There was a rustling in the spare bedroom as if whoever was in there was now aware of her presence. The element of surprise had been lost.

Emulating everything she'd seen Booth do in similar situations, she stood to one side of the door, then kicked at it with just the right amount of force and plunged in.

"Freeze, or I'll shoot!" she went in yelling. She ground to a halt as her eyes adjusted to the dim lighting and she recognized who her intruder was, then demanded, "What are you doing here, Booth?"

"What are _you_ doing here?" he countered.

"I live here!"

"Well you weren't here when I got here," he challenged her. "And you weren't at the lab. And you weren't answering your phone. And now you just barge in here threatening to shoot me? Where did you even get that gun?"

"You scared me, Booth!" she defended herself, refusing to answer his questions, she could feel her body trembling now as the adrenaline coursing through her body subsided.

"Now we're even," he huffed, crossing his arms over his bare chest where he stood. Then he sighed heavily and shook his head.

"How did you get in here?" She demanded.

"Can you maybe yell at me without waving that thing in my face?" he was pointing at the gun she still had at the ready.

She lowered the weapon, though it did nothing to calm her nerves.

"Do you have coffee?" he yawed widely. "And something to eat? I'm starved."

"Unbelievable," she muttered, flinging up her hands in disgust, turning away from him and flouncing out of the room.

She walked into her bedroom and didn't bother to keep the door from shutting forcefully, then began getting ready for work. Turning her shower nozzle to the highest setting, she let the hot water pound down on her and allowed it to work out the stress that had been building up. She had thought that today was going to be easier, but already her morning was proving otherwise.

It should've been no surprise to her that Booth was in her kitchen when she came out, casually asking her how she wanted her eggs cooked as he removed them from her fridge. Several warm slices of toast lay on a plate at his elbow and the percolator was spluttering its final drops of coffee into the carafe.

"You never answered my question about what you were doing here," Brennan pointed out as they sat down to eat.

"You never told me why you called last night," he looked pointedly at her. "Or why you were so rattled."

A silence settled between them as both avoided talking by filling their mouths with food.

"When did you come over?" she asked finally.

"Around midnight," he told her, swallowing the last of his orange juice. "I used my key to get in when you didn't answer."

"Angela came over," her voice was small as it dawned on her how her disheveled apartment must have looked to Booth. Her eyes moved over the room slowly, and her eyes caught on his. "You thought I'd been abducted?"

"Wouldn't be the first time," he said gravely. "And you weren't at the lab or answering your phone."

"I turned it off," she confessed, standing to help clear the dishes.

She wanted to ask him how late he'd been up searching for her before returning to her apartment to sleep, but couldn't find the words. Not quite ready to reveal everything, she instead made light conversation with him as they cleaned up. They were midway through their task when his phone rang.

"Happy Thursday, Bones," he said when set the phone on the counter. "We've got a case."


	9. Mall Madness

**Chapter 9: Mall Madness  
**

There was a companionable silence between the partners on the drive to the crime scene. Booth lifted his sunglasses from the holder and put them on, letting his eyes travel to his companion. "Hey," he said in an attempt to get her attention. "Are you alright?"

"Yes," she nodded, though she didn't look up at him. "You're not wearing proper attire to go to a crime scene, Booth."

"T-shirt and jeans will be fine until I get a chance to go back to my place to change, since I didn't have a clean change of clothes at your place."

She glanced to him and let her eyes slowly roll over his features for a moment, his bare arm stretched out, his hand gripping the steering wheel. His fingers tapped lightly on the wheel while he turned to look to her. There was a sparkle of defiance in her eyes, and it made the corner of his lip curl up. "You really didn't have to stay at my apartment last night, Booth. I think you may have overreacted."

"Overreacted?" He exclaimed, his view of the road seldom between his glances to his partner. His voice rose in pitch, and his palm slapped the steering wheel. "You called me, Bones."

"And I apologized."

"You then proceeded to hang up the phone, and when I tried to call you back, you refused to answer," Booth grunted. "What the hell was I supposed to think?" he asked. "Then, I get back to your apartment, and the scene is set for a classic horror movie with a tub full of water, an empty wine glass, and no Bones."

She paused, resigned with the fact that she may not win this argument. "I apologized." She said, simply. "I don't know what more you want."

A strong, impenetrable tension seemed to fill the car, and they fell into a silence that both of them simultaneously agreed upon without another word. Booth maneuvered the car toward their destination, and when the authorities and the Jeffersonian van came into view, both of them sat up a little straighter, as they mentally preparing themselves for the case ahead.

Booth pulled behind the Jeffersonian van and parked, his head turning to watch his partner's blank stare out of the window, her eyes focusing on the street. "Bones, are you okay?" He asked, eliciting no response from her, he spoke a little louder. "Bones?" he said, reaching out to touch her arm, she jumped, her head snapping in his direction, his brow furrowed. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine." She said quickly, allowing only a moment before she pulled at the handle, grabbed her bag, and jumped from the car. She could feel her heart beating faster, recognizing the intersection they had parked near as being the same one from the morning before. She shouldered her bag swiftly, pushing her anxieties to the back of her mind as she slammed the door on the SUV. She tried to avoid looking to the crosswalk, concerned that it would take her back to the morning before, when all she wanted to do was forget. She glanced to her partner out of the corner of her eye and could see that he was watching her curiously. She shifted her bag on her shoulder, and walked quickly toward the crowd of people at the scene.

Brennan was several yards from the car when she heard his feet alongside her, his breathing heavy from his attempt to keep up with her. "Bones, I'm sorry I'm being pushy, okay? I was just worried about you."

"You have nothing to worry about." She said, walking straight ahead, refusing to look either direction as she walked, she kept her eyes straight ahead as she marched down the jogging path.

"When you say it like that, you make me worry more, you know?" He said, nearly running into her when she stopped in her tracks. She turned around and faced him. Her eyes were challenging as she jutted her chin out, the defiance in her eyes burned like an intense wildfire.

"How would you like me to respond? Would you like me to apologize for being mugged, Booth? Would it make you feel better if I felt sympathy for your plight, and gave in to your constant nagging feeling that there is some greater conspiracy at work here? I'm trying to work, I can't be bothered by your gut right now." she snapped, her words sounding angrier than she had intended, she could see him step back emotionally.

He then stepped back, physically.

He said nothing, allowing a moment to collect himself before he walked past her and toward the crime scene without another word. She watched his gait, the slightly slumped shoulders, and the stiffness in his walk, and immediately knew that she had offended him. Brennan let out a resounding sigh and quickened her pace, stepping through the crowd. She had latex gloves already on her hands as she pushed through the crowd of people standing beside a large bush.

"Where is the body?" She asked, glancing to the techs standing by the bush, she glanced to Cam, who nodded toward the large shrub.

"We were waiting for you, Doctor Brennan." She said, a close-lipped smile greeting the forensic anthropologist.

"Why?" Brennan asked, pushing her way to the bush, her glare of irritation was exacerbated by her partner's avoidance of her eyes. She sighed and climbed into the bush, followed by Cam. The first thing she noticed as she pushed the branches of the bush out of her way, was the advanced decay of the body.

"What's that smell?" Cam asked.

"Aside from decay?" Brennan asked, noting Cam's scowl. "Smells like chlorine, perhaps some kind of acid, or other corrosive." She said, getting a better look at the body. The skin had been eaten away by vermin and likely some type of liquid poured onto it to speed up the decay, and the stench was nearly overwhelming. Brennan moved her gloved hand over the body to attempt to make some conclusions.

"What do we have, Bones?" Booth's voice erupted from outside the bush, she looked up and was nearly poked in the eye by a branch, feeling the sharp scratch across her cheek. She grabbed the small branch with her hand and snapped it off.

"Appears to be a male… late twenties, early thirties. There are… stab wounds, it appears that he was doused in some kind of corrosive substance to expedite decay."

"Any ID on him?" Booth asked.

Brennan looked around the bush for a moment, noticing that there were several wallets, and a purse or two in the general vicinity, and the victim hadn't been moved much. "Any ID, Cam?" Brennan asked.

"I can't find a wallet on him, we'll have to take him in and check a little more thoroughly." She spoke to Brennan.

"What was that?" Booth shouted from outside the bush.

"No identification, Booth." Brennan said, rolling her eyes as she surveyed the scene around her. "This vicinity appears to be a dumping area for purse snatchers and pick pockets, Booth. We're going to have to take the whole bush, and comb the area around it to ensure that we get all of the evidence."

"Send it all to the Jeffersonian." Booth said to one of the techs. "Right, Bones?"

"Yes." Brennan said, looking up at Cam. The two of them then began their climb from the bush. Booth was just on the other side of the large shrub, his hand extending out to help both women from the ground. Once standing, Brennan pulled her other glove from her hand and started to turn toward the SUV. They were almost to the road when she felt his hand lightly touch her arm, trying to get her attention.

"Bones, wait." She turned around and found herself nearly running into him, her eyes lifting to his. "Are you okay? It looks like you were bush whacked." He said, referring to the scratch on her cheek, her eyebrows knitted.

"I'm fine, Booth. It's just a scratch."

"I know it's just a scratch. I can see that it's just a scratch. I'm trying to have a conversation with you."

"I am ready to go to the lab now." She said, lowering her voice. He released her arm from his hold, and they stood for a moment, unsure of what to say. She watched the sensitivity in his eyes, and could tell that he wanted to talk. She wanted so badly to tell him why she was so upset, why being at this spot at nearly the same time as the morning before was beginning to slowly unravel her nerves. She tipped her head, sucking in a slow breath. "Booth." She said, trying not to sound desperate, trying not to sound vulnerable.

"I can tell that you want to talk." He said, his hand shaking slightly at his side, he lifted it slowly. "Coffee cart is over there." He nodded to the cart several yards away, a goal of several of their mornings, it would be a normal thing for them to do. It would be something to take the tension from the moment. "I'll buy, okay?" He said, letting a smile rise on his lips as his hand lifted to the scratch on her cheek, he swallowed hard. His hand hovered just above her cheek as her eyes searched his for a moment. "Does that hurt?"

She was about to answer him, when the moment was shattered by the sound of a loud barrage of pops behind them exploding in their ears. The already rattled Brennan lurched forward into her partner, and his arms instantly wrapped around her in a moment of involuntary protection. She closed her eyes against him as she gripped him tightly, waiting for reality to come crashing down, as the explosions were replaced by a deafening silence.


	10. Lightning In A Bottle

**Chapter 10: Lightning in a Bottle**

She was clutching him tightly, the scent of slightly stale sweat filling her nostrils in short bursts. Above her she could feel him automatically turn his body to shield her, even as his head swiveled back and forth looking for sight-lines. His heart was pounding rapidly in her ears.

The popping sound came again, only more distant this time, but when she heard him swear and felt his body relax she looked up.

"Backfire," he directed her gaze to a car just up the street that was more rust than metal.

Chagrined that something as commonplace as a backfiring car had spooked her, she stepped out of the light grasp he still had on her just as he let go.

"Coffee?" he asked before the silence between them lagged on too long.

She shook her head, "Caffeine wouldn't be the wisest choice for me at the moment."

"Um," he spoke and she felt his eyes scan her, no doubt catching the slight trembling of her hands, and the way her eyes shifted from his. "Okay," the confidence returned to his voice, "let's get you back to the lab then."

She nodded and couldn't deny the comfort she felt when his hand found the small of her back and gently ushered her back to the SUV. This time there was no tension in the silence as they drove, but rather an uncertainty on both their parts as to what to say next.

"That was the intersection," she revealed softly as Booth pulled up to the lab. He turned to her, but waited patiently for her to continue, "The intersection where you parked was where I was mugged yesterday, thus my increased state of agitation."

Like the pieces of a puzzle coming together, Booth took that detail – and the raw vulnerability in Brennan's eyes – and concluded why she was only sharing this now. Her professional demeanor was something she worked hard to maintain when they were on the clock and he'd bet money she'd been compartmentalizing like hell since arriving at the crime scene so she wouldn't crumble. That need for privacy and control was one he understood well and he knew he needed to back off.

"You want to get to work on this one?" he stated more than asked.

"I do," her voice was a mix of relief and thankfulness. "I need to work. Just work."

"Right, so I'll go home, get dressed, and do my FBI thing and you'll do your bone thing, and we'll swap notes later," he gave a half smile, letting her know he was okay with her needing some space for the time being.

She got the unspoken message and nodded silently in return. He gave her a small salute as she moved to get out and she rolled her eyes but gave him a small, playful smile just before closing the passenger door and walking away. At least for the moment, he knew, the balance between them had been restored.

**B&B&B&B&B&B&B**

By the time she strode through the sliding glass doors, Brennan was in complete control of her emotions and prepared for whatever might await her on the forensic platform. The last of the FBI techs were filtering out and she managed to remember their names and thank them as they passed her. Since returning from Maluku – and especially since the Lauren Eames case – she'd been trying to be more personal with the people she worked with and it seemed one of the simplest kindnesses to pay someone was using their name.

It was Wendell's turn on the intern rotation and she was relieved. Of all her students, Wendell was the one who required the least amount of ego coddling and did not shy away from long hours and hard work. She could push him in a way she hadn't been able to push anyone since Zach and she knew she would miss Wendell when he finally finished his doctorate and moved on.

Mentally shaking all lingering thoughts of Zach and anything else that might distract her, she slipped on a pair of gloves and stepped up to the table between Cam and Wendell. Hodgins was also there, collecting samples to analyze, while Angela hung back, tapping away at the computer.

"Do any of the identification cards match our victim's description?" she wanted to know, gesturing at the line of licenses and other cards Angela had laid out on the other table.

"Nothing jumped out at me," the artist answered with a shrug.

Wendell's description was even less helpful. The man was mid-twenties, with an average build, of average weight, and no distinctive facial features. His clothes had been destroyed by the corrosive agent that had been poured over the body, causing chemical burns and discoloration where any clothing remained.

With careful precision, Brennan began conducting her personal observation of the remains. She didn't notice when the rest of the team shared a knowing look and one by one left the platform. Had she been paying attention, she would've known that Wendell was the last to depart and the first to leave a mug of steaming coffee on the adjacent counter.

Hours later, Angela volunteered to be the second one to check up on her friend, offering a gentle reminder that the anthropologist should stop and eat soon. To the artist's surprise, Brennan agreed, handing the remains over to Wendell for full maceration.

**B&B&B&B&B&B&B**

"Cam said Booth showed up to the crime scene looking pretty scruffy," Angela commented casually between bites of salad.

Brennan shrugged, "Apparently he slept in my guest bedroom last night."

"Oh, Sweetie! He must've been worried sick about you," Angela looked concerned on Booth's behalf. "Did you tell him about the texts?"

Brennan shook her head, avoiding eye contact with her friend for a moment before looking up.

"Bren," the artist's voice conveyed exasperation, "he needs to know."

The anthropologist stalled by putting another bite of salad in her mouth, unsure of how to explain her predicament to her friend without violating the privacy agreement that existed between her and Booth. A part of her cursed herself inwardly for allowing her connections to people to become so complex and confusing, yearning for a time when she would cut herself off from people and be emotionally unavailable. Things were simpler back then.

They were also lonelier, the other side of the mental argument countered, a small smile surfacing as Angela switched the topic to her pregnancy and the upcoming appointments she and Hodgins had. In quiet confidence, Angela told her friend the two names she and Hodgins had decided on, a wide grin splitting her face when she gave away the girl's name.

Would she have been granted that honor had she remained emotionally distant, wondered Brennan. Probably not.

"Hey, Studly, nice threads!" Angela greeted Booth, who was standing uncertainly at the threshold of Brennan's office. "Come on in."

Booth's eyes connected with Brennan's as he smoothed his grey suit with one hand, and then walked in. He told Angela that she was looking radiant, handed her a file full of missing persons that matched the description of their victim, and waited until Angela had taken her leave to sit down on the couch next to Brennan.

"Text me later," the artist called to her friend at the last second, eliciting a scowl from Brennan and a confused look from Booth.

"Everything okay?" Booth queried, leaning forward, he looked toward his partner curiously.

Brennan fleetingly wished she was one of those people who could lie smoothly, but she was not, so she settled for a neutral shrug.

Irritation filled Booth's eyes, "Look, Bones, I've been pretty damn patient with you all morning but it's time to cut the crap. What are you not telling me?"

"Don't," she warned as he reached out to touch her shoulder, standing up quickly.

Booth let a curse escape his lips as she crossed the room to her desk, "Why are you shutting me out, Bones?" he asked, leaning on the desk.

That made her stop in her tracks and whirl around, "_Me?"_

"Yeah, you," he leveled a finger at her, standing up to face her. "The one who calls, then hangs up, then disappears and refuses to tell me why. Why won't you let me in? Why won't you tell _me_ what is going on?"

Her jaw clenched, ire rising and she took a step toward him, not intimidated in the least, "_You_ were the one who set the current terms for our working arrangement, Booth. Partners. No more. No less." She straightened and crossed her arms over her chest, keeping a strong glare in her eyes. "I've apologized several times now for transgressing the line between professional and private. If you can't accept that what I'm withholding from you is private information that does not concern our partnership, then I suggest you…"

"Stop," Booth said, holding a hand out to bring his point across. "Just, stop."

She waited for him to continue, her tongue forced into the back of her teeth to keep her from continuing, she watched him collect his thoughts and walk toward the door. "Booth," she said in an attempt to stop him from leaving, she realized he was simply closing the door. With the door firmly closed, he turned around and faced her, and she allowed herself to swallow the breath she had held.

"That's what this is about?" He asked, stepping toward her. He pushed into her personal space so that he could stare directly into her eyes. They still stood a foot or two apart, but she could feel his energy invading her space. "That's what all of this is about? All of the secrets, and the hiding?"

"I am not hiding," she stated, her voice still strong. "I had an unfortunate incident occur yesterday morning. An incident that I believe could have been described as insignificant, had I not had the paranoid musings of my overprotective partner screaming in my ear at every turn." She straightened her posture and her teeth ground together as she breathed hard through her nostrils, trying to remain in control. Suddenly she turned and walked purposely toward the white board in the corner of her office. She wrenched the cap off the pen and began to write.

"Bones, what are you doing?" Booth asked.

"I'm attempting to make things clearer." She said, drawing a large circle on the board, she glanced to him, and proceeded to draw another large circle beside it, intertwining them in the middle. "You respond well to diagrams, I want to make this as clear as possible for both of us. I don't want there to be any more misunderstandings."

He stepped to the board and looked at the two large circles, and back to his partner. "So, what do we do now?"

"This," she said, tapping the circle on the left. "This is my private life. That side is yours, and the center, that is our partnership."

"Bones, you can't just divide things like that, it doesn't work that way." Booth argued.

"No, you can." She said, putting the pen to the board, she wrote 'solve murders' in the center portion. On her side, she wrote 'writing', 'personal safety', 'personal health'. She turned to see Booth looking at the board with a confused expression, his squint bordering on disgust.

"Bones, this is a stupid idea."

"It's not a stupid idea." She replied. She picked up a pen and held it out to him. "Write down what you believe to be personal items that only you should be concerned with." She said, shaking the pen in her hand toward him. "Take the pen."

"No" he said, shaking his head, he took a heavy step back. "No, I am not playing this game."

"It isn't a game, Booth. It's an exercise in understanding. I'm trying to understand where we stand." She said, shaking the pen at him, he reached out and grabbed it from her and put it in the tray under the white board. He then grabbed the pen from her other hand and put it on the tray. "Booth, stop."

"No," he said, releasing an angry sigh. "No, you stop. Stop trying to categorize our relationship, okay? We are partners, but we're also friends. Where's the little circle for that?" He asked. She turned and faced the board, looking up at the large circles in front of her.

Her mind was spinning with the many things she could reveal, and she had Angela's nagging voice in her ear telling her to expose her concerns of the previous evening to her partner. Through it all though, logic won, as it often did with her. Her afternoon had been filled with analysis and numbers, science and logic, and now she was facing reality. The reality of it was that the texts were non-specific. They held no personal meaning for her, and for all of the frustration and anxiety it had caused her, the possibility of it being meaningful was minuscule. If anything, they were from a wrong number and directed to a blind date, or lover of a mistaken man.

She fiddled with the cap in her hand and picked up the pen from the tray. Her eyes were focused on the board, looking so hard at the white surface that she could nearly see other marks from previous uses of the white board. She tried to focus her thoughts, tried to pull herself into the clinical mode that she was attempting to envelop herself in. She heard his feet shifting behind her, patiently waiting for a response, and she clicked the cap back onto the pen and set it in the tray. "Bones, just tell me what's going on. I need to know, as your friend."

Slowly, she turned to face him. She took a slow, deliberate breath to focus her thoughts. "I would like to tell you," she said, stepping past him toward the desk. "But first explain to me the double standard." She said, shifting things around on her desk, she attempted to find her cell phone.

"What double standard?"

"Tell me exactly where our partnership ends, and where our friendship begins. Explain to me the specific parameters of our friendship."

"Bones, I don't…"

"You know exactly what I mean. You were concerned for my safety," she nodded. "You came here yesterday to establish your concern that I hadn't answered your phone calls throughout the day."

"Yes."

"You then went with me to dinner, and to the phone store to obtain a new phone," she stated.

"Those are things that friends do, yes."

"I will even go so far as to say that you taking a photo of yourself with my new phone, entering your own phone number, your own ring tone, and purchasing a game application as being things that friends do," she replied.

"Alright." He shrugged.

"How many of your friends would take it upon themselves to enter your apartment when you don't answer the door? How many would stay overnight to ensure that you come home the next day?" She asked, stepping around her desk. "And lastly," she said, narrowing her eyes with a fiery challenge. "How many friends of yours are being watched by off duty police officers at your behest?"

His jaw dropped just slightly, and he had no response. "You knew?"

"He wasn't exactly what one would call 'subtle', Booth." She straightened her posture and crossed her arms over her chest stubbornly. "You have initiated a double standard here, and I am just trying to maintain some level of stability among your gray areas and smudged lines."

He attempted to maintain his composure against the allegations that his partner was making against him. "Bones, I…" He stammered.

"I don't want to know why you did it, Booth. I don't want an explanation, excuse, or anything else. I just want some semblance of order. We have our own routines and habits, we have our own way of taking care of those we care about. I understand that… I do." She sucked in a deep breath, building the courage to complete her thought. "When I agreed to be your partner, I had a specific understanding of where our boundaries lie. While I do find them challenging at times, I am making a concerted effort to maintain a comfortable distance between our private and professional lives. I understand that we are friends, and therefore our interaction in our private lives cannot be contained completely, and that we share a particular bond of trust and reliance. I appreciate your concern over what happened to me yesterday, but the incident is over, okay?"

He wasn't beaten down or ashamed of what she had said. Her words were true and meaningful, and not taken as a scolding or deflation of ego. It was a simple clarification between friends, her intention and his understanding. "Okay." There was a long pause, as if he wasn't exactly sure where to go from that moment, when it was broken by a sharp knock on the door. They both turned to the door to acknowledge the entrance of Hodgins.

"Hey guys." Hodgins said, pausing as if for dramatic effect.

"What is it, Hodgins?" Booth asked impatiently, catching the glare from his partner.

"Doctor B, you're going to want to see this." He said, nodding his head toward the platform, he disappeared out the door, and was quickly followed by Booth and Brennan.


	11. Dude And Revelations

**Chapter 11: Dude and Revelations**

Brennan walked with Hodgins, and Booth lagged behind a step or two, keeping up with the quick pace of the two scientists. They ran their cards and quickly climbed the steps, and Booth noted that they weren't moving toward the body, for Wendell had already taken it to be de-fleshed. Instead, they moved toward one of the work tables. He stepped up and ran his own security card through the scanner, walking up behind the two of them.

His eyes immediately went to the monitor, and though he had absolutely no idea what the lines and formulas meant, he could tell by the excitement in Hodgins' voice, that he had found something. There was a barrage of technical terminology between the two of them, which Booth let flutter into the air like confetti, hoping that when it landed, he'd know what it all meant.

"Common drain cleaner." Hodgins said proudly, smiling at Brennan, his eyes flickered to Booth, and back to his boss. Hodgins had such a passion for his work, that the excitement that he barely held bottled up was almost as infectious as his smile.

"He was doused with Drain-o?" Booth asked, squinting his eyes at the monitor, trying to make sense of it. Giving up, he glanced back to the scientist.

"A concentrated amount to expedite decay. The fibers that I found on the body were cotton, probably from a sweatshirt or something he was wearing." Hodgins said, holding up a metal zipper. "From the looks of it, a zippered sweatshirt."

"Like a hoodie." Booth said, nodding toward the monitor, finding satisfaction in his catching on.

"Yeah." Hodgins replied. "The chemicals ate away a lot of the clothing, and along with animal activity…" He continued on as Brennan listened intently to his description of what they had found on the scene, and how they were processing it.

"Hodgins?" Booth said, his focus no longer on the task at hand, but on the table to the side that held an array of personal items retrieved from the bush and the surrounding environs. "Were all of these items taken from the crime scene?"

"Yeah." Hodgins said, looking to Brennan, they exchanged a confused expression as he walked past them blindly, quickly moving toward the table. "Why?"

His attention had been on Hodgins, and the moment he saw the table across the room, his gut twisted at the sight of one particular object. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest as he stepped toward the objects and pulled a latex glove from the box on the table. He lifted up one of the objects and turned toward his partner's confused expression. "Bones." He said, holding up a phone in his hand, he watched her face pale with realization as she marched toward him, her eyes on the cell phone in his hand.

"That's my phone." She said, reaching for it, she pulled it from Booth's hand along with the glove and turned her head toward where there victim had been. She recalled recording the victim's height and approximate weight, and his build did fit the description. Those things, combined with Hodgins' discovery of a hooded sweatshirt were enough for the pieces to suddenly begin to fall together. "Booth, I think he's the man who stole my phone." She said, swallowing hard, she stared at the phone and looked to her partner. Booth's jaw clicked with agitation, and they maintained intense eye contact for several moments.

"Maybe he's the guy that has been sending you the creepy text messages." Angela said from the other side of the platform, flipping through the file of missing persons that Booth had brought her as she stood at a computer monitor with an image of the victim's skull.

"What creepy text messages?" Booth asked.

Brennan ignored his question, and walked across the platform toward Angela, her attention was completely on the photo of the victim's skull displayed on the screen. She pressed a couple of keys on the keyboard and kept her focus on the screen as the photos flashed across the monitor. "I… I think this might be the man that saved my life yesterday." She said, looking from picture to picture, she turned to Hodgins.

"What creepy text messages, Bones?" Booth asked. His voice demonstrated the depth of concern he had for her, and he looked to the artist. "Angela?"

"Hodgins, did we determine a time of death?"

"Between nine and midnight last night." Cam said, stepping up the platform steps, she could see the frustration in Booth's eyes as he focused on his partner. "What's with the constipated look on your face?" She asked, acknowledging his glare with a knowing look away.

"He just wants to know about some text messages that I've been getting." Brennan said looking up. "It's nothing, Booth. It's just a wrong number."

"Angela said they were 'creepy' text messages. How are they creepy?" He asked, looking between Angela and Brennan, Angela shrugged and nodded toward Brennan.

"I told her to tell you, Booth."

"It's not a big deal." Brennan said, rolling her eyes. She stood up and turned to Cam. "Time of death was between nine and midnight. Cause of death was…" She turned sharply and came face to face with her partner. She flinched back at his closeness and glowered at him. "It was a nondescript text message. It was only creepy because it made my anxiety level elevate, and I let your paranoia affect my judgment, which in turn made me a little jumpy last night." She shrugged. "That's all."

"When did they start?" he asked, trying his hardest not to demand an answer. She took a step back and sighed.

"Yesterday afternoon." She replied, narrowing her eyes at him.

"When you got your new phone?" He asked.

"Obviously." She said, turning toward the monitor.

"Because 'Mr. Plumber' here had your phone number." Booth said angrily, tapping at the monitor. Brennan reached up and swatted his hand away, trying her hardest to show a lack of concern, despite the constant stream of thoughts and scenarios that were working their way through her mind.

"He's dead now." Brennan said nonchalantly.

"Yes, he's dead now." Booth said, sighing as he tried to maintain control. "He's dead now because someone murdered him and shoved his body into a bush! Why aren't you telling me these things, Bones? Why are you holding all of this back and brushing it off like it means nothing? Why don't you _trust_ me?" He said, looking around at the other squints, he realized that he was making a scene. He took a step back and turned from his partner, trying to formulate his thoughts so that he could explain to her his concerns and not sound like a total jackass.

"Would you like to discuss this in my office?" She asked, ensuring that her voice didn't sound coddling or emasculating.

"Yes." He stated definitively. "Please?" He asked, turning on his heel, he excused himself from the rest of the group, and made his way toward her office.

* * *

Booth was in the office pacing when Brennan walked through the doorway and closed the door. She was still facing the door when he began to state his case.

"I don't care what you say about this, Bones. I don't care what you think about my reaction, but the evidence is just piling up. It's just piling up, and you stand there and act like it's just a walk in the-"

He came to an abrupt halt as she turned around, and for the first time he could see fear in her eyes even as she worked desperately to clamp down on it.

His mouth was left open, and he tried to process the situation. "I'm an ass," he muttered, trying to figure out what to do next. Thanks to his drunken, angry, self, he'd painted himself into a corner with his partner, and seeing her staring back at him with her eyes wide with fear, all he wanted to do was enfold her in his arms and let know everything would be alright. That was all he wanted, but he knew that he couldn't, not if he wanted to keep his distance. If she was going to follow the rules, he had to offer her that same respect.

What he didn't know, was that Brennan was equally at a loss. Vulnerability and fear were two things she'd learned long ago to bury deep so that people wouldn't see her as weak and exploit her. But this was Booth: her partner; her friend; and the one person she felt safe being vulnerable around. This was also the man who had declared he wanted to spend the next 30, 40, or 50 years with her. The man she'd crushed with her rejection. The man she'd discovered only too late that she'd loved. No one else in her world understood her like Booth, but right now he was the one person she couldn't confide in because of their agreement.

The silence stretched like a taut rubber band between them, locking them into a twisted stalemate. It surprised neither one of them to see that it was Booth who could bear it no longer. Confidence buoyed with each step he took, he walked not toward her, but away. He moved deftly toward the board, snatching up a marker that lay on her desk on his way. He walked up to the board, uncapped the pen, and drew a circle of his own.

"This is who we are, Bones," he gestured broadly, turning to face her, his face was thoughtful and serious, and he awaited her reaction.

"You've circled everything on the board," she tilted her head, trying to understand the implication.

"Yeah," his lips quirked upward, his dark eyes lightening. "We can draw all the lines we want – when we're drunk or when we're rational – but at the end of the day there's something between us that pulls us back together. Something that blurs all the lines." He said, his eyes held the same light and hope that she remembered seeing in them nearly a year before. "Not everything is black and white, Bones. Not everything has sharp edges, and impenetrable walls. There is something more to it than you can write on this damn board."

The word "love" hovered in the air between them, but neither was ready to voice it quite yet.

"You realize your circle is in permanent marker?" she arched a teasing eyebrow, even as her hands relaxed to her sides.

"That's how hard it's going to be to get rid of me," he smirked.

She rolled her eyes at his cocky grin, then sobered with a sharp breath, "I'm sorry for discounting your concern earlier, I just..."

Her eyes pleaded with his to understand the complex nature of their relationship. To see that for as much as she had wanted to reach out to him, she felt like she couldn't.

He gave the smallest of nods.

"I know you were worried," she told him.

"I was," he admitted, stepping forward to close the gap between them, only an inch of space between them, their understanding hovering in that space tauntingly. In that shared space, he took her hand and discarded his own control, and allowed her a glimpse of the terror he felt every time she was in danger. "I can't lose that, Temperance," he spoke softly, chucking a thumb at the board. "I can't lose you."

Her head bobbed, and to his shock she stepped toward him and enfolded him in her arms. Tightly, she squeezed his body against her, resting her cheek against his shoulder.

"It's a guy hug," her low voice soothed in his ear. "Just take it."


	12. Please Pass the Past

**Chapter 12: Please Pass the Past  
**

Between Hodgins' discoveries, Angela's sketch, and the FBI database, it was soon discovered that their victim was one Nick Scott, a DC resident with a rap sheet longer than Booth's arm. Most of the charges were petty theft and one incident where he was suspected of attempted burglary but never charged. Booth spent the rest of the morning after he left the lab attempting to contact the owners of the stolen wallets and merchandise they'd found.

It didn't take too many calls to figure out Scott had been the pickpocket in the park. All of the victims, including Brennan, had been nearly wiped out by a car, only to be "saved" at the last moment.

"So he had a partner?" Brennan asked, chewing on a fry.

"Yup," his fingers brushed hers on the way in for another fry, "but nobody saw the driver and every car description we got was different."

"Stolen cars," she looked up suddenly at him. "When I called to check up on what the police had discovered they said the license plate number I gave them was from a stolen car. That would account for the different reports."

"Gonna make this guy harder to track down too," Booth frowned.

"Or woman," Brennan was quick to point out. Booth's eyebrow rose at his partner's correction. "At this time it's unclear what the driver's gender is."

Booth rolled his eyes and opened his mouth to speak when a voice behind Brennan said, "Oh good! You guys are here!"

Two heads snapped up and before Sweets could suspect anything they pulled the fingers that had been touching apart.

"What's up, Sweets?" Booth asked through a mouthful of fries.

That earned him a chastising frown from Brennan, to which Booth offered a quick shrug and focused back on the kid shrink. Unfortunately before either one of them could protest,

Sweets plunked himself down beside Brennan and put in an order.

They sat in silence for several moments, and Booth and Brennan engaged in a silent argument with their eyes. They focused on one another and through a series of facial expressions, let the other know how they felt about the situation. Booth figured that Sweets would just get the hint and get lost, but Brennan knew that once Booth engaged him in conversation, Sweets would take it as an open invitation.

"I have a question for you," Sweets began, sipping at the coffee the waitress had brought to him. Silence met him so he plunged ahead, "I've been thinking that maybe with everything that's gone on in the past few months that you guys would like to resume our sessions – just for a month or two."

"What?" Booth demanded, sitting up straight, just as Brennan asked, "Why?"

"Well," Sweets went on, "Your partnership has been put through some mega challenges, and I just thought, that after Han-"

"Stop," Booth's voice took on an unnaturally dark tone. "Stop right there."

"I agree," Brennan sprang instantly to her partner's defense. "It would be inadvisable for you to continue this line of questioning."

"But really guys, you two need to talk about your, feel-"

"Enough," Brennan could sense her partner's ire reaching a boiling point, surprised the coffee mug hadn't shattered in his hand yet. "The past is in the past and will remain so whether we do or do not submit to any further sessions with you."

An awkward silence settled on them but at least, Brennan noted, it didn't look like her partner was going to throw his small dish of peas at the psychologist any longer. Booth tapped on the table lightly with his fingertip, and her attention focused on his eyes. Within his gaze sat a grateful acknowledgment, and she then turned her attention toward the now sulking psychologist.

"I believe we are going to turn down your offer, Sweets," she said at last. When that didn't spur him to excuse himself, Brennan added, "Booth and I are discussing a case right now, Doctor Sweets, and we won't be in need of your assistance. We'll consult you if we require your help on this case, or one in the future."

Chagrined, the kid muttered something too low for anyone to hear and slowly stood up. He picked up his cup from the table and nodded in acknowledgment of their request, and moved across the diner to the counter, out of earshot of the two partners.

Booth stared at the plate of fries thoughtfully, his hand reaching down to pluck one of the three that remained on the dish. They were silent for a moment, and the corner of his lips quirked. He looked up to see that Brennan was watching him. There was a slight concern in her eyes, and he watched her glance across the diner, and back at him. "Don't worry, Bones. Sweets is a big boy, he'll be fine."

She lifted an eyebrow at his words and jutted her chin indignantly. "I don't know what you're referring to."

"Sweets," Booth replied. "You're feeling bad that you told him to get lost."

"I am not," she said, looking across the diner at the psychologist as he sit alone sipping his coffee, watching the waitress take orders to the couple beside him. "Okay, maybe I feel a little bad," she shrugged.

"He'll be fine, Bones." Booth sipped his own coffee, and picked up one of the two remaining fries from the plate. "Here, have a fry." Her face scrunched up in faux irritation, and she snatched the fry from his finger. "Besides, I think it was cute what you did right there."

"What?"

"You stood up to Sweets, defended me."

"I didn't defend you," she replied as she popped the fry into her mouth. A slow smile rose on her partner's face and her eyes widened in defense. "I didn't defend you," she said. "I simply declined his services. We don't need him to be here when we discuss our relationship." She shrugged.

"You mean partnership," he corrected sharply.

She paused awkwardly, eying the last fry in the plate. Before she could react, he plucked it from the plate and held it between his fingers as if he were holding it for ransom. He could see the irritation in her eyes when her brow furrowed, and the soft growl of aggravation. "Yes, that's what I meant." She said, reaching across, she grabbed the final fry from his fingertips and shoved it into her mouth. "Our partnership." Eye contact was now averted, and Brennan lifted her fork to her plate to poke at the pieces of wilted lettuce at the edge of it. The pause was long and tension filled, and when she lifted her eyes to his, she tilted her head as if her mind was begging him to let it pass. However, her lips were ahead in the game, and before she could stop them, the words spilled from her mouth. "Do you think we should talk about it?" She asked.

"Yes," he replied without pause.

"Now?"

"No," he replied immediately, his stern voice extending the seriousness of the conversation, and suddenly his eyes softened. "Not here, okay?"

She swallowed the anxiety that she held in her throat, and felt warmth in her cheeks, and nodded. "Okay," she said, offering him a smile.

* * *

While Booth went back to the Hoover, Brennan was forced to spend the rest of the afternoon in her office.

Her office with the whiteboard.

The whiteboard with Booth's permanent circle swallowing everything.

It bothered her to no small end that he'd used the word "partnership" at the diner. While partnership certainly defined who they were at a professional level, something grated against using it to define them on a personal level too. "Relationship" was the more all-encompassing word; the word she felt defined them in the same way Booth's circle had. True, it was mere semantics, but correct word usage had always been important to her. Booth was important to her.

Her cell phone rang and she picked it up without looking at the display, "Brennan."

There was silence on the other end and she repeated her greeting, then sighed when an audible click came through the line and the call dropped. Only a second later, it rang again.

"Bones?" the caller asked when she finally answered.

"Booth?"

"Unless you know somebody else who calls you Bones," he quipped. There was a pause then, "Hey, you okay, Bones?"

The temptation to prevaricate in order to avoid any further discord was strong but in the end she couldn't, "Someone called a moment before you did and hung up."

"Oh," they both knew what he was thinking, but neither said anything.

He cleared his throat, "Hey, um, look, I called for a reason-"

"Of course," she sat up straight at her desk.

"Yeah, well," she could tell he was stalling but she remained quiet until he went on. "I'm sorry for jumping down your throat at the diner. You know, about the 'partnership' thing."

While a moment ago she'd felt wronged, now she bristled at the guilt in Booth's voice, and found herself assuring him. "It's fine."

"No it's not," he was firm about that. There was a pause and she heard him sigh into the phone, "I'm just angry a lot now Bones. Not at you, just..."

He trailed off and she was unsure exactly how to respond.

"Apology accepted," she kept her tone soft and devoid of accusation; mentally sighing in relief that _she_ was not the current source of his anguish. "You know it's understandable that Sweets would presume we have issues to work through."

"Yeah," Booth's voice regained a note of confidence now that he knew she could forgive him.

"We did share with him how we felt about one another."

"In the past," Booth couldn't help but put it out there.

"Yes," she hesitated for a second longer than she wanted to, "the past."

"Are we talking about our," this time it was Booth who hesitated, though his word choice was deliberate, "relationship?"

Something about the way he said it made a small smile creep up her face as she nodded, "It would appear so."

"King of the Lab!" Hodgins crowed, bursting into the office and waving a manila folder in his hands. Brennan nearly jumped at the interruption, and immediately switched to 'Doctor Brennan' mode.

Brennan put Booth on speaker-phone as work once again impinged on their private moment. This time, however, it was good news. Fingerprints that matched the victim's roommate had been found on the bleach bottles Hodgins had recovered from a public trashcan near the crime scene. Not only that, but the stolen car Brennan had reported almost hitting her had been located by the police and contained yet another set of fingerprints belonging to the same man.

* * *

Two hours and one very long interrogation session later, Nick Scott's roommate and partner in crime, "Zip" Barstow, was hauled away in handcuffs. He had tried to convince them he would never kill Nick, but the more the evidence piled up, the less vocal he became. Bank records showed Nick had been stiffing Zip for months, but the morning Nick died, a large withdrawal had been made from their joint account. The missing cash hadn't shown up yet, but Booth assured Zip that when they found it, the heavy part of the hammer would fall unless Zip confessed.

"Drinks tonight?" Brennan asked as casually as she could once they were finally alone.

"I'd like that," Booth's reply was soft, almost shy.

"Founding Fathers?"

"How about my place?" Booth suggested instead. "We can, uh, finish that talk we started."

"I'd like that," she ducked her head, avoiding eye contact for a moment before catching his gaze.

She mumbled something about needing to get back to the lab and he made up some excuse about paperwork, and they parted ways, promising to meet that night at his apartment.

* * *

Brennan arrived approximately three minutes early and knocked on Booth's door just as a chime sounded in her pocket.

**Had to run out for a sec. Make yourself at home.**

She smiled, imagining Booth hastily accomplishing whatever last-minute errand he was running, and sent a message back saying she would be fine. With that, she let herself in with her emergency key and flicked the light on.

Apparently the errand had been unexpectedly taken as her eyes spotted the two open beers waiting for them on Booth's coffee table. Her eyes flicked around the room, noting the changes since she'd last been here. She couldn't help but let her feet carry her over to the far wall; couldn't help the hand that reached out to touch the rotary phone. That he'd kept it while eliminating every other trace of Hannah meant something. But what? She couldn't wait to ask him.

While contemplating the hidden meaning in that simple gesture, a noise reached her ear that startled her and she spun around to face it.

* * *

_The man in the shadows watches, allowing himself a cold smile. It's been a long, tiring wait, and his plans had nearly been foiled. _

_Patiently he waits.  
_

_Listening. Following. Hunting. _

_If such an allowance could be made, he would be giddy in this moment. This was the moment that he had been waiting for. It was the moment he lulled his target into a false sense of security. It was the moment he set the culmination of two months worth of plans into motion. _

_His smile is wicked when recognition flares in the other's eyes just moments before the strike. A hood placed over their head will keep the secret for a while longer, until the drugs wear off, until the next phase of his plan can be completed._

_The victory is punctuated with an unmoving body._

_Time for phase two._


	13. When The Bough Breaks

**Chapter 13: When The Bough Breaks  
**

The sound of water reached her ears before her brain could contextualize it, but by the time she turned around she was fully aware and on edge.

"Booth," she called out hesitantly, willing his voice to reply.

Of course nothing but the sound of steadily falling water came back, and with each step toward his bathroom her fear grew, whether she wanted it to or not. A hand slipped into her pocket, pulling out a pair of purple latex gloves. She donned them, noting the bathroom door was slightly ajar, and eased the door open the rest of the way with her elbow.

* * *

_Breaths came in rapid spurts through his nose. His body was trying to regain control of something it had no idea it was in the middle of, and the loud, angry thumping in his brain was not helping. His mouth tasted of coppery blood, his tongue smashed against his teeth and his lips tasted of adhesive from the tape that covered them. His head was covered by a dark fabric, his eyes bathed in darkness but for the minuscule squares of light pushing through the seams of the object over his head._

_His body ached, and his hands were bound to the chair he sat in,using rope, tape, or twine. He felt himself slipping between consciousness and darkness, his breathing erratic, his heart pounding angrily in his chest. He groaned in discontent, in anger, growling against the tape that covered his mouth as his reality slowly came into focus._

_His feet were bound as well, tied securely to the leg of the chair he was sitting in. His chest was bare, and he could feel the cold air tickling against his skin. He could feel that he was still wearing his cotton shirt from that morning, but the buttons had been unfastened, and he felt something cold against his skin. His mind raged through the possible scenarios and the blood rushing through his head sounded like a busy freeway. His head lolled back and forth and tried to focus on something, anything, failing miserably. He attempted to let out a guttural groan, and a sharp pain in his side made him wince as if his ribs were on fire, the intensity of the pain obviously caused by a cracked rib._

_He breathed in heavily and tried to maintain consciousness, he attempted to focus and breathe instead of giving in to the relentless pain his body was experiencing. He thought he heard a sound to his right, and grunted against the tape covering his mouth. He swung his head back and forth, feeling the hood on his head slipping, the fabric sliding against his skin. Several moments of struggling against the pain in both his head and his side, and the hood slipped from his head, falling to the floor, it landed in a pool of fabric on the floor._

* * *

The humidity hung in the air like a pall; running in rivulets down the mirror above the sink. Water cascaded from the shower head, but there were no signs that someone had been forcibly removed from the tub. Quickly, she crossed the room and turned the knobs, halting the flow and bringing the silence crashing down on her.

Something at the bottom of the tub clogged the drain fully but she wasn't about to reach in. The forensic scientist in her knew that Hodgins could determine how long the water had been running if she left it standing, though it was losing ground to the panic settling in her chest. Touching nothing, she shoved the panic deep down, allowing the cool, clinical side of her to emerge as she took in her surroundings.

The few towels in the room were hung neatly on their racks, while Booth's brightly striped socks lay casually tossed to one side. His belt was on the floor as well, but with no pants, suggesting he'd been preparing to take a shower, but never did. The longer she studied the room the more the evidence supported that hypothesis.

Yet there were no signs of a struggle. Even the slightly opened door didn't necessarily mean that someone had entered the room uninvited and knowing Booth, he could've left it open himself to ventilate the room. It was feasible that he was preparing for a shower, received a call that necessitated his leaving, and had left, sending her a text message.

It niggled at the back of her mind that Booth would never leave the water running.

Determined that this room could yield her no more, she took her leave of it, hesitating only slightly before turning back toward Booth's bedroom, rather than the living room. The door opened at her gloved touch, but the sight it unveiled made her halt in her tracks.

* * *

_Booth's first view of his situation gave rise to an intense wave of panic, and his eyes adjusted to the light slowly, revealing little by little, the situation he had found himself in. The chair he was tied to was bolted to the floor, his arms tied down to the arms of the chair with thick layers of duct tape. He moved turned his head to the side and surveyed the room he was in. Long and narrow with small windows, it appeared he was inside a single wide trailer. It was an old and tattered place; it smelled of stale cigarettes and animal urine, the walls stained yellow from the leaking seams. Surrounding him were monitors of different sizes. Directly across from him was a large, flat panel television, the screen dark. _

_He could see his reflection in the glass of the screen: his hair disheveled and sticking up, his chest bare with wires attached to his skin. He looked down at the device, noting the intricate design of it; how the wires draped through the room and lead to a small black box across the trailer from him. He let out an angry grunt and began to fight against the bonds around his hands. His breathing was erratic and loud, and he moved his face to loosen the tape from his mouth. Wetting the adhesive by forcing his tongue through his lips, he was finally able to force it from his mouth. _

_His chest was heaving as he tried to recover, and his blurry focus began to clear. His head still pounded, but at least he could breathe. At least he could see. Unfortunately, what he saw when he finally was able to focus, made his blood run cold. Surrounding him on all of the walls, were picture upon picture of his partner. There were pictures of her working, walking, jogging. There were pictures of her with him, sharing a cup of coffee in the diner, and walking on the street. The most disturbing thing about the pictures was how close they were to Brennan, how precise and invasive they were. He noticed the writing on the photos, the coordinates and marks made on them, and his mouth went dry. His heart began to pound as he fought against the tape that bound his wrists. _

_Suddenly, the television in front of him flickered to life, and Booth's attention was caught by the now blue screen. His head snapped in the direction of a sound on his left, crackling like a radio, and he focused on a walkie-talkie that was sitting just feet from him on the table._

"_Hey Seeley," the voice said in sickeningly sarcastic way. "Glad to see you're awake."_


	14. Hot Blooded

**Chapter 14: Hot Blooded**

_Booth grunted angrily as he fought against the tape that held him firmly to the chair. "I wouldn't do that if I were you." The voice slurred through the radio._

"_What do you want, Broadsky?" Booth growled spat angrily. "What do you want?"_

"_You want to know what I want. That's a different tactic. I have news for you, Booth. If what I wanted was that easy, then I wouldn't have to go through all of this trouble of bringing you here."_

"_What do you want?" He asked, breathing heavily, glaring at the radio. The pain from his cracked rib was excruciating and each movement was instigating it more. His eyes traveled up the wall and focused on a camera overhead, pointed directly at him. The red light was bright and entrancing, and his attention was grabbed by the sound of Broadsky's voice. _

"_That's right, Seeley. I'm watching you."_

"_Where are you?"_

"_Someplace safe." Broadsky sneered through the radio. "Which isn't something that I can say for you right now."_

"_What is this?" Booth asked, pulling his arms, he could feel the adhesive pulling the hair on his arms, and winced at the pain. "What the hell is this, Jake?" He shouted. "What do you want?"_

"_I want you to see how this works. I want you to understand what I'm thinking when I choose my next target. I want you to witness the hunt, feel the adrenaline."_

"_And you didn't think that you could have just invited me out for a drink first?" Booth said sarcastically. "Maybe if you eased into some casual conversation, we could have worked something out." He gritted his teeth and pulled at his wrists. "What the hell do you have attached to me, anyway? What kind of sick game is this?"_

"_That… is a heart monitor." Broadsky said, his laugh was hidden by the crackle of the radio. "That box across the room that it's attached to? That's a detonator. Your vitals are being fed into that detonator, which is attached to several blocks of explosives in and around the trailer."_

B&B&B&B&B

Brennan stood stock still in the doorway, eyes roving back and forth trying to take in every detail, but ultimately settling back on the items in the middle of the bed: his badge and gun.

Bile rose in her throat as she spotted a single scarlet stain on the gray carpet and she had to turn around, away from the room and all the implications it held. Her feet took her to the bookshelf in Booth's entryway and with shaky hands she pushed the fake books aside.

It was empty save for a slip of paper.

B&B&B&B&B&B

_Booth found it disconcerting, arguing with a tiny black box, but he couldn't help but let out a guttural yell. "Son of a bitch, Jake!" He shouted, sending jolts of pain through his body as he struggled against the bonds of the tape._

"_Booth, you better calm down." Broadsky's calm voice soothed. "Snipers are taught to maintain their calm, you know that. Keep your heart rate down, you get to live a little longer, let it race for longer than ten seconds, and you are no more. I recommend you keep your cool, Booth." _

_Booth continued to struggle against the cuffs of tape, his teeth gritted angrily as sweat began to trickle down his forehead. The confined space was stuffy and uncomfortable, and the tape on his wrists moved very little in his struggle. "You pull those wires out, Booth, and the same thing happens, so I'd watch it." _

_Booth stopped, staring up at the camera. "Let me out of here, you goddamned son of a bitch!" Booth shouted. Suddenly, he was met by a sharp jolt at his back, sending him lurching forward as he felt the pain of the burn in his lower back._

"_Oh, right." Broadsky said with a laugh. "Your chair is wired remotely to keep you from mouthing off, so I'd recommend that you only speak when spoken to." Broadsky sneered through the radio. "Any more questions before I start the lesson?"_

"_Yeah." Booth growled. "Why didn't you just take me out like you did the Gravedigger? Why didn't you just kill me when you had the chance in my apartment?"_

"_I thought about it, Seeley, trust me." Broadsky's voice was thick with anger. "But when I learned about Paula, how you treated her, how you made her feel broken enough to take her own life. You shattered her spirit, Booth. You made her believe that someone she trusted had betrayed her. So I thought that I could teach you a little lesson in hunting. Maybe I could do the same thing for you, which you did for me."_

B&B&B&B&B&B&B&B

Brennan's still-gloved fingers closed around the paper and upon closer inspection she discovered it wasn't a paper after all. Her own face stared back at her. Head tilted to one side, lips curved in a soft smile, the photographed Brennan held a conch shell to her ear.

Just off to her right, Brennan could see her father's arm in the frame and the memory of the moment dispelled some of the fear trying to settle in her chest. Booth was in the picture too, just behind her left shoulder. Through the diner's window she saw him, watching her, fully captivated by the scene unfolding outside. The expression was one she knew Angela would label as love.

_Which is ridiculous, _she reminded herself with a shake of her head, _because he was dating Hannah at the time. He was in love with Hannah at the time. _

It struck her as odd that Booth would store the photo in his safe, until she divorced herself from the feelings it evoked and analyzed it. There was something odd about it and all of a sudden she realized the picture was in black and white. It was also taken from some distance and the longer she stared at it the more ground her fears gained.

She'd seen pictures like this before.

In a locked room.

Connected with string.

She shoved the photo back in, slammed the safe door, and slid the fake books back in place. First, she phoned the FBI to tell them she suspected Booth had been taken, citing the evidence she'd found. When they rebuffed her she called Angela, then Cam, insisting they come over right away. Her heart sank when they too were wary of her suspicions, though at least they had agreed to come.

Doubt swirled amid the fear, making her question everything she'd discovered since first setting foot in the apartment. With heavy steps she sought sanctuary in the living room, dialing one final number.

B&B&B&B&B&B&B

_"What the hell are you talking about?" demanded Booth._

_"Let me introduce you to my target." Broadsky said, and suddenly the television in front of Booth flickered to life. Filling the screen was a clear view of the window of an apartment. It looked familiar, and the camera was invasive. Then he recognized what he was looking at: his own apartment._

_"No, Jake." Booth said, taking deep breaths to maintain his composure. "No."_

_"I think you'll be familiar with her." He said, as a silhouette filled the window, and then a form appeared close to window. The camera zoomed and focused on the person standing at the window, and he knew that it was Brennan._

_"Jake, don't do it." Booth said, as silence gripped him, and the radio made no sound. "Jake."_

_And suddenly the silence was shattered by an all-too-familiar ringtone._


	15. Sweet Dreams

**Chapter 15: Sweet Dreams  
**

Brennan's heart slowed when the familiar ringing met her ears, reassuring her that wherever Booth was, his phone was on.

"Hello?" the familiar voice on the other end answered.

She opened her mouth to answer when she was met with Booth's laugh, informing her that this was a recording and she could leave a message if she wanted. He would get back to her as soon as possible.

* * *

_The ringtone was nearly as taunting as Broadsky's voice, as it repeated the same guitar riff over and over again. When the ringing stopped, Booth's eyes snapped back to the radio. He was trying everything he could to keep his breathing slow and steady. He waited for the voice to come spewing from the box again, and heard a click and something shuffling. "What are you doing, Jake?"_

_He heard a little more shuffling and closed his eyes to block his view of the woman on the screen as she pulled the phone from her ear. He peered out between squinting eyelids and saw her figure once again. She pressed another button or two and lifted the phone to her ear. He jumped when his ring tone went off again, and closed his eyes, trying to block out the sound. "Jake! Stop this!" Booth shouted._

_The next voice he heard over the line wasn't Jacob Broadsky. The next voice was one that he was all too familiar with._

_'Booth? When you get this message, please call me. I want to believe you're experimenting with fear of loss in retribution for the confusion of last night, but my knowledge of who you are leads me to believe that this is not a hoax. I'm afraid, Booth.' She whispered. The phone simply clicked then, and Booth was left with the silence on the line, the silence of the room. Just when he thought that the message was over, her voice floated over the line once again. 'Booth? It's Bones again. I just needed to say this… because if I don't, then it's not out there, and I need it to be out there.' There was a long pause on the line, and Booth stared at her figure on the screen as she held the phone in her hand tightly and stared out of the window, the contents of the message still in her mind, but not yet to his ears. She then whispered three simple words, three simple words that made his heart soar, but he could do nothing about it, and refused to react. 'I love you.'_

* * *

She stared out the window, questioning whether she should have called him a second time. Should she have left such a message? Would he ever receive it?

The same self-doubt that always circled her when it came to matters of the heart assaulted her and she began nervously pacing the apartment. Something - she was sure Booth would label it her gut - refused to believe despite reassurances from the FBI and the lack of evidence, that Booth was okay. That wherever he was, in a few minutes he would bound through the door and tease her for getting so worked up over nothing.

Swiping one of the open beers from the coffee table when she drew near it again, she tipped it back, allowing the now-tepid liquid to flow down her throat, willing the alcohol to soothe her frazzled nerves.

It didn't work.

Instead she continued her internal debate, all the while irrationally wishing that the next person to walk through the door would be Booth.

* * *

_Booth's eyes remained on the screen, enraptured by the vision of his partner pacing in his apartment, the look of worry on her face was enough to make his chest tighten with each step. "You have no reason to harm her, Broadsky." Booth said, pulling against his restraints. "She's not involved in this!"_

_The radio clicked. "She's involved in this as deeply as Paula was."_

_"Paula took her own life, Broadsky! Nothing I said pulled that trigger!"_

_"I don't care about the circumstances anymore, Booth. She was innocent in all of this, and so is my next target."_

_"Stop calling her a target! She's a woman! She has a family!"_

_"Right, and people that she loves." Broadsky snapped instantly, the sarcasm dripping from his voice in a steady stream. "I loved Paula, Seeley. I loved her very much, and I protected her from many, many dangers. I protected her just like you protect our target here." He sneered. "Difference is now, she can't be protected. Not by you, not by anyone. Just like you left Paula to take her own life."_

_"I didn't kill her!" Booth shouted, hearing the sound of the heart monitor beeping its dangerous pulse, he closed his eyes and blocked out the visuals, in an attempt to calm himself._

_"Open your eyes!" Broadsky said, sending a jolt of electricity into Booth's back, he yelped in pain as he opened his eyes to the screen. "We're not going to kill her tonight, Booth."_

_The lights to the trailer then turned off. Booth was left with the visual of Brennan moving toward the door in his apartment._

_"I'm going to let her panic a little." Broadsky said. "I'm going to let her miss you. I'm going to let you see the anguish in her face. I'm going to let you watch her suffer, then… then I'm going to kill her. Then I'm going to take her life and then… that will be when you can't hold back anymore, Booth. That's when you'll prove my point, that you can't keep your emotions in check, you can't keep yourself the cool, calm man that you claim to be. You're no sniper. You're soft, and it's going to be your fault that she dies. It's going to be your own fault when you die too."_

_"Leave her out of this!" Booth shouted. "Leave her out of this, Broadsky!"_

_He looked to the screen and could see Brennan hugging Angela, her lips moving rapidly as she pointed and spoke, and the screen then went black._

_"Goodnight, Seeley." Broadsky said, bathing the trailer with darkness, he left his victim alone and helpless to the danger that surrounded him and his partner, danger that was only beginning, danger that he could do nothing to stop._

* * *

To Brennan's relief, once the others arrived they were easily persuaded that something was amiss. Hodgins got busy snapping pictures of the apartment while Cam began combing over everything for any shred of evidence.

By now a full hour and a half had passed since their meeting time had come and gone and Brennan was more convinced than ever that Booth had been taken.

"And the FBI wasn't concerned at all?" Angela questioned her as they sat down on Booth's couch to wait.

"They appeared not to be," she nodded.

"Just seems weird given all the times you two have stumbled into a hornet's nest," the artist shook her head.

"You know what I think," Hodgins joined the conversation, flopping down on a nearby chair.

"Don't say it," Angela warned with a raised finger.

Hodgins eyes grew wide with innocence but he couldn't help one last thought, "Government and coverups go hand in hand and at the end of the day we have to remember Booth is a G-man. For all we know he could be in on this too."

"Which," Angela interrupted before he could say anything else, "doesn't mean we're not going to help you turn over every stone 'til we find Booth."

Brennan smiled her thanks at her friend but couldn't help digest Hodgins words. Cam came into the room, oblivious to the conversation and announced she'd gotten everything she could. She offered to take everything back to the lab and a time was agreed upon early the next morning for them to look it all over and begin the informal investigation.

_That night in a trailer tucked away from sight, a screen flickered to life, forcing its lone occupant to watch helplessly as the woman he love curled herself up into a tight ball on his California king-sized bed and fell into a fitful sleep._


	16. Drink and Drive

**Chapter 16: Drink and Drive  
**

_Booth's eyes remained on that television monitor until he could not remain conscious any longer. His head slumped, his eyes closed, and his body fell slack in the chair. His sleep was broken and not at all peaceful or comfortable in the least. _

_He jumped when he heard a slam somewhere in the trailer. He looked up, and was met by the cold, angry eyes of none other than Jacob Broadsky._

"_Enjoying the in flight movie?" Broadsky sneered at his captive._

"_What the hell kind of game is this, Broadsky?"_

"_Shut up." He said, snapping open a bottle of water, he took a long drink from it. "Here." He said, shoving the bottle in Booth's face, he turned his head from the offending object._

"_I'm not thirsty."_

"_Sure you are…" Broadsky said with a laugh. "It's getting a little cold in here, but you've been sweating, the anxiety of the situation probably getting to you. I have to keep you alive so you can watch the hunt." He said, pushing the bottle in Booth's face. "Now drink!" He shouted._

_Booth took a swig of water, and promptly spit it at his captor, the water dribbling down his chin wet his shirt, but made him feel satisfied that he was able to be defiant in some way. His disobedience was then met by a solid punch to the jaw, snapping his neck to the side violently, Booth still managed to let out a laugh as he coughed on some water that had trickled down his throat. "If your ultimate goal is to kill me, then I'm going to make it easier for you." Booth sneered, clicking his jaw open and closed, he coughed again._

"_So you'd rather suffer physically, huh? Part of your penance, Seeley? Your Catholic guilt getting to you?"_

"_Shut up, Jake!"_

_Broadsky turned toward a wooden chair beside the monitor and pulled it close to the screen. He then sat down and glared across at Booth. "When you shout at me like that, it just makes me want to talk more." He laughed. "Here." He said, shoving the bottle of water in Booth's face, he tipped it, and Booth swallowed several gulps of water, coughing when the bottle was pulled away from him. "Are you enjoying the show? You like to watch her sleep?" Broadsky asked. "She doesn't sleep very soundly in her own apartment you know? She moves around a lot in her bed. I don't think she's ever had a full night of sleep that I've seen."_

_The thought of this man watching Brennan when she slept made Booth physically ill. He could feel the bile rising up in his throat, and the firm, murderous rage lifting up from his chest. He gritted his teeth, feeling the soreness of his jaw from when the other man had punched him, but he kept his mouth shut as Broadsky continued to talk. _

_"That's right, she sleeps like a baby in your bed. Look at the way she just curls up around your pillow, like she's holding on for dear life." Broadsky laughed. "She must really, really love you." He said, reaching out to touch the screen, his hand flitted over the figure of Brennan, and Broadsky could sense Booth tensing up beside him, his reaction predictable. Jake smiled wickedly. "Makes me wonder why you never got a piece of her for yourself."_

B&B&B&B&B

The growing light filtered through the curtains, lifting Brennan from her deep sleep. A part of her groggy awareness informed her she was not in her own bed, but the scent filling her nostrils was so familiar and calming she allowed herself to remain still a few minutes longer. One eye opened, then the next and it was only then she realized how tightly she was clinging to Booth's extra pillow. Instead of releasing it immediately, she pulled it closer, shivering slightly from the cold, wishing now that she had lain under the covers rather than on top of them.

The silence that engulfed her became oppressive the longer she lay still and she found that she couldn't do it any longer.

Much to her dismay, Booth had not returned overnight; nor did she hold out any further hope that he would. She fumbled in her pocket for her phone, barely holding back a sigh when it informed her that she had received no new calls in the past six hours. Her fingers danced over the buttons on her phone, and she listened intently as it rang through.

"Has Agent Booth reported in today?" she asked the junior agent who answered.

There was a fair deal of rustling on the other end and when it quieted, the agent stammered that he wasn't authorized to give her Agent Booth's whereabouts and passed along the message that she was not to continue to waste the FBI's time with any further calls. He hung up before she could demand to speak with someone higher up the chain of command.

She tried several other numbers of more highly influential people and was met with the same silence; each person informing her that her worry for Booth's safety was unfounded and that her inquiries were a waste of valuable, government time. By the time she finished, hot tears of anger, frustration, and discouragement coursed down her cheeks and for a long moment she indulged in the self-pity.

B&B&B&B&B&B&B

_Booth gritted his teeth, his stomach was twisting in anger at the man in front of him, and his heart was beating wildly in his chest. He wondered for a moment why the device hadn't detonated, when his captor turned to him. "If you're wondering why we haven't blown up yet, I turned off the device so that I could visit. There's no need to put myself in danger too, you know." He laughed._

"_You're a goddamned psychotic bastard, Broadsky! Do you know that?" Booth exclaimed._

"_Name calling isn't going to win you over with me, Booth." He growled. He then turned his attention back to the monitor. "Look at that… she's waking up." He smiled wickedly, as he leaned in toward the screen, and watched the morning unfold. Booth refused to watch the screen, his eyes instead on Broadsky, who sat with a wickedly evil smile on his face, as he became enraptured with the events on the screen. Booth waited a moment, and then allowed himself a glance at his partner, lying on his bed staring at the ceiling, obviously upset._

_He wanted to reach out and touch her face, to wipe the tears that were rolling down her cheek. He could feel the tension in his chest as he stared into her eyes. He jumped at the sound of Broadsky's chair hitting the floor, as the other man stood up and glared at Booth. "I should get going now." He said with a sardonic smile, his eyes on Brennan as she angrily swiped at her tears and climbed from Booth's bed. "Our target is on the move."_

B&B&B&B&B

No one who saw Brennan emerge from the elevator at the Hoover would've dared to accuse her of crying just an hour earlier. Dressed in a manner she knew would command the respect and attention she needed, she allowed nothing in her words or body language to suggest the contempt for Booth's co-workers that roiled under the surface.

Systematically she worked her way from one office to the next in search of answers, growing more and more displeased as she was rebuffed at every turn. The fear that someone had kidnapped Booth was fast being replaced with the fear that he had been given a dangerous undercover assignment that she had not been informed of. That, unfortunately, left her with only one remaining choice.

B&B&B&B&B&B

"_Jake, just… think about what you're doing for a minute."_

"_Oh, I know what I'm doing, Booth. I know exactly what I'm doing. I've been thinking about this for weeks. I've been planning this day and night since the day that Paula died." He cleared his throat. "You know, I almost took out that pretty blonde you were seeing. I saw the way you treated her, taking her home in the afternoons, having sex with her on our country's time. Letting innocent victims sit in that cold, emotionless lab while you fucked Barbie's brains out."_

"_Don't be disgusting, Jake."_

"_I could tell that you didn't love her, not like you love our victim here."_

"_Brennan." Booth glared. "Her name is Doctor Temperance Brennan. She's not a target, she's a human being."_

"_Yeah? Well so was Paula, you son of a bitch." Broadsky said, holding up a black stick with a button on it. He pushed the button hard, and watched Booth flinch as the heart monitor started back up. "On with the hunt, pal. Have a nice day." Broadsky said, backing up as he opened the door. He stepped out of the trailer and walked out, letting the door slam behind him. Muffled by the door of the trailer, he could still hear Broadsky's voice. "Don't forget, Booth! I'm watching you!"_

B&B&B&B&B&B

"Dr. Brennan!" Sweets cringed inwardly at the sound of his voice cracking as his office door was flung open. He looked at the patient seated on his couch, and then back at Brennan, "I'm with someone now."

"Reschedule," there was no room for argument in her tone.

"Really?" he looked at Brennan, then his patient, then back up again with a sigh. "Fine, just let me wrap this up super quick."

What could barely pass for a nod was bestowed on him, but she crossed her arms and made it clear that she was not waiting outside.

"I know you're still torn by this decision," Sweets did his best to ignore the fuming woman and concentrate on the Agent in front of him, "and as I've said before, gender change is not something to be taken lightly."

Sweets fumbled around for a few more things to say to help the confused man in front of him, before feeling like he'd at least said enough to release him from their current session. The man thanked Sweets for his time before quietly getting up to leave.

"You would make a fairly attractive female," Brennan said in a helpful tone as she moved to let the man pass. Sweets prayed for the ground to open up and swallow him, but it didn't and he reddened as Brennan went on, "Of course your wardrobe choices will be very important as well to make yourself more appealing to males. My friend Angela has been very successful in attracting both male and female attention should you ever require any assistance in that area."

The wide-eyed agent mumbled a hasty thanks as he scooted out of the office, and Sweets closed his eyes and shook his head before releasing a sigh and looking back up at Brennan.

"Are you ill, Dr. Sweets?" Brennan seemed momentarily concerned.

"No-I-I'm fine," he assured her as best he could.

"Good," she nodded, all business again. "Because I require some immediate answers and _you_ are going to provide them."


	17. The Hole In The Loop

**Chapter 17: The Hole In The Loop**

She relished the way Sweets squirmed under her glare for a long moment before launching into her argument. To his credit, the younger man said nothing as she described the state of Booth's apartment and laid out the facts she had uncovered thus far.

"What I find highly disturbing," she said in conclusion, "is the lack of concern everyone I've spoken with at the Hoover has for Booth's safety."

"So why come to me?" Sweets shrugged and she thought she heard a tremor in his voice that could indicate prevarication on his part.

"Because no one else is giving me the answers I need," she paused before going on, fixing her face in a stony glare, "and you owe us." She leaned forward and eyed him intensely, a stare that had often unnerved him more than the knowledge that the fact that her partner always carried a gun.

He leaned forward to her, knowing that it was inevitable that she'd learn what he knew, or at least what little he knew. "I don't know much." He whispered toward her, his eyes fixed on hers. "I just know that he is in deep cover."

"I don't know what that means."

"It means that there was some chatter from the higher ups, that he had been placed on an undercover assignment. Chances are the people that you have been discussing this with, are aware of his deep cover status and are not at liberty to share information with you about it."

"He is my partner, Doctor Sweets."

Brennan straightened and watched the man's eyes for a moment. She could see by his sincerity that he was not lying, but there was still a sense of concern in his eyes. "Doctor Brennan, if you want to talk about Agent Booth's work with the FBI and perhaps the surprise of learning that he…"

"Thank you for your time, Doctor Sweets," she said, standing up. She smoothed her skirt slightly with her hands, trying to hide the pang of anxiety that slammed into her, and the violent twisting of her stomach. "I was concerned for his safety, and I apologize for interrupting your session with another agent," she said, turning toward the door.

"Doctor Brennan?" Sweets said, standing up. She turned at the door, her hand already on the handle. "If you need anything else, please feel free to call me or stop in."

"I don't need you." She replied. "Thank you for your information." Her response was curt and sharp, and with that, she disappeared through the doorway, and marched down the hallway toward the elevators.

* * *

_Booth found himself staring at his own reflection in the darkened monitor, the only sounds that invaded the trailer were the long calls of a bird in what Booth assumed was in a tree right above the trailer. His breathing had regulated, and his body had stopped moving, but his mind was whirling with thoughts that made him angry, and visions of what could possibly happen swirled violently through his mind._

_Suddenly the television flickered to life, and a view of Brennan was flashed across the screen. The camera focused, following her down the sidewalk. Her gait suggested that she had a goal and the stern look on her face was one of pure stubbornness. He wondered for a moment where she was coming from. Noticing an envelope beneath her arm, he strained to focus on it and recognized it as the Broadsky file from his desk._

_"Good girl." He whispered under his breath. She marched quickly down the sidewalk toward the Jeffersonian, turning sharply toward the building, she disappeared through the doors and out of sight._

_"Enjoying the view?" Broadsky's voice whispered over the radio, the raspy sound of his words taunted him. Booth thought to say something in response, but kept his mouth closed, simply staring at the reflection of the trees in the glass door that his partner had disappeared through as the screen went black._

* * *

Brennan was on the floor of her office amidst a sea of papers going through the Broadsky file when Cam found her and to the pathologist's disappointment, she was not alone.

"Pull up a rug," Hodgins welcomed her with a weary smile, then chucked a thumb over his shoulder. "Or you can wrestle Ange for the couch."

The very pregnant couch occupant glared at her husband before turning to Cam, "I can share."

"No, no," Cam shook her head, "that won't be necessary. I'm not here to stay."

"What's up?" Hodgins' clear blue eyes were on her, waiting for an answer.

"Doctor Brennan may we talk?" Cam ignored the bug man's question.

"Of course," Brennan said without looking up.

"I meant alone," Cam spoke each word slowly, hoping the anthropologist would catch her drift.

Hodgins stirred but a look from Brennan stopped him as she spoke to Cam, "Whatever you have to say can be said in front of all of us."

"That wouldn't be best," came the clipped reply.

Brennan tilted her head and shrugged, "I'm going to tell them whatever you tell me anyway, so there's little sense in making them leave."

Cam's eyes rolled to the ceiling and she expelled a long breath before conceding Brennan was telling the truth, "Fine. You all know that Booth is currently undercover-"

"According to the Feds," Hodgins muttered.

"-therefore our contract with him is temporarily suspended," to her credit she went without pause.

"What?" three voices clamored simultaneously.

"It never has been before," Hodgins protested, eyes narrowing in suspicion.

"Except when we thought he was dead-" Angela put in.

"-which he wasn't," Brennan was quick to supply. "Just like he _isn't _undercover now."

"He _is_, Doctor Brennan," Cam said forcefully, "and if it means I have to order you not to push this any further, I will."

"I'm claiming a freebie," Brennan exclaimed, wasting no time.

"Freebie declined," Cam said with no hesitation. "We have work of our own to do and the FBI wants us to leave this alone."

"They _called _you?" accused Hodgins.

Cam fixed him with a glare, though it didn't have much of an impact. She looked from one face to the next and knew she wasn't going to get anywhere with any of them. "Look," she sighed, "it's friday, so why don't you three finish up your paperwork for today, head home after lunch, and take an early weekend?" Her question sounded more like a demand.

Brennan scowled, while Hodgins stewed, and Angela maintained her solidarity thought she said nothing.

"Have a good weekend," Cam told them. "I'm sure Booth will be back from this assignment in no time. I'm presuming I don't have to tell you that this is all highly confidential?"

Three heads shook and Cam gave a curt nod, "Right, then. I'll see you all on Monday."

Hodgins waited only a millisecond after the glass door closed behind Cam before asking Brennan to pass him Broadsky's service record.

"What?" he looked back and forth between the two women. "Cam said she didn't want Dr. B digging any deeper."

"And technically she never ordered me not to," Brennan said, her mind replaying the conversation searching for loopholes, "she merely threatened me not to make her order it." She paused, "Despite what the FBI's stance is, I cannot believe Booth would simply leave without telling me."

"Unless he invited you over at that time so that you'd know he was going," Angela suggested, then threw her hands up at the twin glares she received. "Hey, I trust you, Bren, you know I do but I had to put that out there."

Brennan nodded reluctantly and a laden silence fell over them until finally her head snapped up and she began collecting the papers around her. "Hodgins," she asked without looking up, "can you gather up all of the evidence we collected last night?"

"You bet," he jumped up, rubbing hands together gleefully.

"Ange, perhaps you can make certain that the paperwork Cam requested is turned in?"

"Of course, Sweetie," Angela smiled. "And I'll run interference since both of you are terrible liars."

The two scientists looked at each other and exchanged twin shrugs before going back to their tasks.

"What are you going to do, Dr. B?" Hodgins wondered out loud as she slipped he jacket on.

"I," Brennan said, concealing the Broadsky file within her already-filled shoulder bag, "am going to lunch."

* * *

_Booth continued to stare at the television, willing it to turn on again. His anxiety was welling up in his stomach, and he felt sick. He turned his head from side to side, trying to see if there was some way for him to escape. He twisted his wrists again and again, feeling the raw skin beneath the tape, burned from repeatedly pulling and pushing against the binding._

_He attempted to kick his feet, and felt the same tightness of the tape around his ankles as well. The screen flickered to life, and Brennan appeared on it again. She looked angry but determined. "Your woman certainly moves around a lot. Can't get her to stay in one place when you're not around." Broadsky's thick voice oozed through the radio. "Makes her into an interesting target." He said, noting that Booth wasn't responding, he sent a shock through the charges on Booth's back, making him jump._

_Booth shouted in pain, grunting at the intense shock that rattled through his body, he glared at the camera._

_"There you are." Broadsky's sick smile could practically be seen through the radio, and Booth glared. "Why so quiet, Seeley?"_

_"I'm saving my energy, so that I can kill you the next chance I get." Booth growled between gritted teeth._

_"It's a shame you won't get an opportunity." Broadsky said, following Brennan through the streets as she headed for the diner. "Looks like the good doctor is hungry," he said._

_Booth watched Brennan enter the diner, and noticed immediately that she didn't move to their typical table, but instead sat at the counter. The camera zoomed in and he could see her sit down, pulling the folder from the bag, she opened it at the counter._

_"I wonder what goodies she has in that folder." Broadsky laughed. "She's a pretty macabre lady, Doctor Temperance Brennan. A really interesting psychological case. Looks like she's given up the search on you already, Booth." Broadsky laughed. "Okay, maybe it helps that I was able to hijack the FBI's mainframe and put you on assignment."_

_"What?" Booth asked._

_"That's right, Seeley Joseph Booth was approved for an undercover assignment. No contact is to be made until further notice." Broadsky chuckled. "Makes my job a little easier, and even better, it means my target thinks they can relax."_

_Booth could see from the way that Brennan was sitting that she was anything but relaxed. Her posture was straight as a pin, and her eyes were poring over the documents in front of her._

_"Now I just have to decide where I'm going to take her out." Broadsky continued. "Maybe it'll be in her beloved lab." He said, noting that Booth's eyes never left the screen. "Maybe she'll go back to your place tonight, Booth. I suspect she'll want to be close to you. I could just shoot her right there in your bed, let her bleed out right there on your sheets. Maybe I'll just shoot her out on the street, huh? Let her die on the sidewalk alone, unidentified and helpless. How would you like that, Booth? How do you want her to die?"_

_"Stop it! Stop it now!"_

_Broadsky's laugh filled the radio static, and filled the trailer, maniacal and humored, his voice cut out as he shifted his focus to the person sitting next to Brennan at the counter, their face distorted by the glare on the window, he couldn't get a clear look. She spoke to the person for a moment and then stood up abruptly, leaving the other diner to their meal, as she gathered the papers together and left the diner without a second look._


	18. Lingering Beneath The Surface

**Chapter 18: Lingering Beneath The Surface  
**

Although he had perhaps prevaricated at the time for his own needs, Dr. Gordon Gordon Wyatt had been correct when it came to Dr. Temperance Brennan's position on purposelessness. Being sent home from the lab so early in the day with the prospect of not going back until Monday was nearly intolerable. She also wasn't good at aimlessness, so after the short diversion in the diner she drove to the one place she hoped would offer her a modicum of relief: Booth's apartment.

As it was clear the FBI was not going to pursue an official investigation – and seeing as she and Hodgins had photographed and collected any evidence they might later need – she decided that cleaning up could be her first order of business. Booth was not as sloppy as some men she had known, nor was he as neat as she. "Cluttered" was the best word she could use to define the state of the apartment and for the most part she simply tidied up the messes she found, leaving them to look "Boothy" versus pristine, knowing that he would tease her otherwise. She did, however, clean out his fridge thoroughly, reasoning that the mold would only continue to spread.

Guilt that his life could be in peril while she did inane chores gnawed at her the entire afternoon, though she never allowed her mind to stop considering all of the factors involved. She was no less sure now than she had been this morning that Booth had been taken somewhere by someone against his will. Broadsky seemed to be the logical candidate; finding proof to back her hypothesis up was proving difficult.

At six o'clock her phone rang and a worried Angela inquired why she was not at her apartment.

"How do you know I'm not there?" she replied, sinking down heavily into a chair.

"Because we've been standing at your door for the last five minutes," Angela said wryly. "Hodgins was ready to bust down your door."

"I'm thankful that you chose an alternative solution," said Brennan.

There was a snorting sound on the other end of the line before Angela went on, "So anyway, do you want to meet us for dinner? We were thinking about Wong Fu's or Founding Fathers but it's up to you."

Brennan shook her head, weariness settling in to the point she admitted, "I'm tired, Ange."

"We could bring it to you, wherever you are," the artist suggested gently.

"I appreciate the offer; really, I do," insisted Brennan. "But I require time and space. Do you understand?"

A long sigh was released on the other end of the line.

"I get it, Sweetie," Angela said warmly. "But you call if you need anything, understand?"

"I do," Brennan nodded.

"Good," Angela sounded satisfied that her friend was taken care of for the moment. "Jack and I will meet you at the diner tomorrow for breakfast, though, okay?"

"Okay," Brennan conceded.

A few exchanged goodbyes later she was once again enveloped by the silence. She placed the phone on the coffee table and stared at it for a very long, painful moment. "Where are you, Booth?" She whispered to herself, and felt a tear escape her eye, and cascade haphazardly down her cheek.

* * *

_Booth had no idea how long he had been sitting there, staring at the screen. He had no semblance of time or focus when the screen was off, and his lack of nourishment was starting to stab at him angrily. Sweat slid slowly down his temple, rolling against his skin, he wished that he could reach his hand up to wipe it away. Instead, it tickled its way down his cheek, dropping onto his bare shoulder, and snaked down his chest in a haphazard drizzle._

_He rolled his head to the side, groaning at the pain in his abdomen, the pain in his head, and the unrelenting itch that had settled on the tip of his nose. Swallowing hard, he closed his eyes, trying to will the pain to dissipate, trying to ignore the fetid smell of stale urine that permeated the air._

_His attempt at solace from his pain was suddenly interrupted by the slamming of the door of the trailer. Booth jumped at the interruption, and was met by a stabbing pain in his side. Booth grunted, closing his eyes tighter as the heavy boots approached him. _

_"Wake up!" Broadsky shouted, pouring a bottle of cold water over Booth's head, his captive looked up at him with a steely glare._

_Booth struggled for a moment, feeling the burning of the contacts at his skin release light jolts of electricity into his back from contact with the water, he glared at Jake angrily despite languishing in the relief that the cold water had given him. "Just kill me and get it over with!" Booth growled. "You don't want her, you want me!"_

_"I want both of you." Jake said with a sneer. "You were both on that rooftop, you were both hunting me down. It was both of you."_

_"She wasn't involved!" Booth exclaimed, lying through his teeth, he kept his eyes on his captor as the water dripped down his face. "If she was involved, don't you think I would have brought her on that first meeting?"_

_"You brought her to Paula's place." Broadsky said. Booth gave away nothing and Jake continued. "You don't think I wasn't watching? You don't think that I knew that you were onto me? I've been watching you for a very long time, Seeley. I've been watching our target as well. I watch how she follows after you, how she looks for your approval. I see how you two celebrate and bond, how you tease and argue. It makes me sick. He said, flicking a switch on the controller in his hand, it flickered to the camera on the diner, a camera at the lab, then ultimately, back to his apartment. "She hasn't left your apartment since she left the lab, Booth. She's quite loyal to you."_

_"She's my partner." Booth grunted._

_"Seems to me like she's a little more than that." Broadsky said, leaning over Booth, he set his hand in his hair and grabbed it, pulling his head back violently. He then shoved a bottle of water to his lips and let the water gush from the open lip of the container. "Now drink."_

_Booth choked down swallow after swallow of the ice cold water in the bottle, coughing as it leaked into his windpipe, he uncaringly swallowed more until the bottle was completely empty. When he could stand it no longer, he pulled his head away and began to cough. The water burned as it entered his lungs, but he didn't care, he was simply happy for the minimum relief of the pain he was experiencing. He coughed for several moments, focusing on the screen as he watched Brennan lifting her phone to her ear._

_"I've been thinking of how I should take her out, you know?" Broadsky said, his eyes focusing on the camera focused in on his partner. "Head... Heart... It doesn't matter to me, she'll be dead in seconds." Broadsky hit a button on the device in his hand and it switched to a different angle. It was obvious that this camera was actually in the apartment with Brennan. Booth could feel his jaw tightening, his heart was pounding in his chest as he attempted to keep his control. The camera was on Brennan, her hand on the phone as she sat in the chair in his living room. She looked sad, so lost, and Booth could feel a constriction in his throat from his emotional reaction. He watched her facial expression turn indignant as she spoke, and unbeknownst to Broadsky, he could read her lips as she spoke, declining something, asking for time and space._

_Time and Space. She needed to think._

_Booth could feel the twist in his stomach, and for a moment was grateful that the camera was so close to her. Though black and white, he could picture the lightness in her eyes, and the pink color of her lips. She turned the phone off and placed it down on the coffee table in front of her, settling down in the chair, Booth watched as her face contorted into an expression of pain. He noticed that even in the seclusion of his apartment, alone and away from the world, she was still holding back her emotions. His heart was pounding now, and for a moment, he was grateful that Broadsky had turned off the monitor. Booth watched as the tear cascaded down her cheek, her eyes tightly closed as she opened them again, staring at the phone once more. _

_'Where are you, Booth?' _

_He could almost hear the whimper in her voice, the tremble in her lips. He just wanted to reach out and hold her, to tell her that he was right here, right here watching her, and he needed her help. He needed her to find him._

_As if pushed by his thoughts, his wishes and needs, she stood up suddenly. She sucked in a deep breath, and walked across the room slowly._

_"She's not even going to know what hit her." Broadsky said suddenly, pulling Booth's focus from the screen. He then stood up, threw the empty plastic bottle across the room and let it bounce off Booth's face. Booth glared across at his captor, but kept his mouth shut. "I don't think I'll ever understand what draws you to work with a scientist." Broadsky shrugged. "All you need to know, is how to survive."_

_"And how are you supposed to survive if you're being hunted? How are you supposed to survive if you don't even know there is someone in the darkness holding a gun on you? That's not fair, Broadsky."_

_"A deer doesn't get to choose to be a deer, Seeley... but it does make the decision to step out of the woods and be seen. When you and our target decided to ruin my plans, that's when you stepped out of the woods. When you shot at me on that rooftop? That's when you stepped into my crosshairs." Broadsky snapped. He tossed the cap of the water bottle and hit Booth in the forehead, before turning, and walking out of the trailer, allowing the door to slam in his wake. Booth heard the detonator reactivate, as the echo of the slammed door bounced off the walls of his makeshift coffin._

* * *

Brennan walked across the room, slowly sweeping her feet across the hardwood floor as her eyes raked across the familiar surroundings. She let her fingertip slide over one of the shelves, and suddenly her eyes focused on the stack of books that hid the safe where Booth typically kept his firearm. She suddenly remembered the photo that she had found when she had entered the apartment the evening before, and could feel her hands trembling as she slid the books aside.

When the safe was open, she pulled the photo from the depths of it, turning swiftly toward an antique roll top desk that she remembered him mentioning came from Pops. Without thought of how she knew his apartment so well, she rolled open the desk, and placed the photo down. She flicked on a desk lamp, and pulled it toward the photo, with one hand, and with the other hand slid open the small drawer of the desk and pulled out a small magnifying glass that she knew Booth kept around for Pops when he visited and needed to see his television programming in the newspaper. She slid the lens over the photo, and her eyes widened at the sight before her. The camera had been focusing on her partner, on her. What she focused on, was the background. Sitting behind Booth at the diner counter was a familiar face, his eyes focused on the man staring lovingly out the window, his cold stare fixated on the side of the other man's head, the dark sweatshirt he wore was all of the proof she needed to know who he was.

As she thought, about the implications, Brennan lifted her eyes in thought. Her eyes immediately focused on a photo frame that rested atop the desk that she stood at, a frame that she had never seen, holding a picture of Booth and Parker, a photo that she had also never seen before. The frame seemed out of place sitting atop the desk, colorful with an impression of a clown holding balloons on one corner, she was convinced immediately that this frame was not something that belonged to Booth. Her eyes focused on the frame for a moment, and she tried to rationalize its placement, and it's origin.

* * *

_Booth found himself in disbelief as his partner moved deftly through his apartment. He watched her analyze each and every inch of his apartment, and her movement toward the safe both surprised and intrigued him. He was surprised at how quickly she managed to open the safe, and wondered for a moment how she knew the combination. She moved quickly, pulling a paper from the depths of the safe as she turned and walked directly toward the camera._

_Booth's heart jumped in his chest when he realized she was standing directly in front of the camera. He knew that if she focused just right she would find the one clue she needed to know that he wasn't on assignment. She would find the proof that she needed to send her on a relentless manhunt that he knew this proof would launch her into. _

_He held his breath and watched the screen, as the camera focused on the top of her head now, her eyes looking down at something on the desk. She seemed to be diligent in her examination of the slip of paper she had pulled from his safe. After a moment or two, he watched her face come into view again, and read the lines on her face to indicate the shock of something on that slip of paper. It took only a split second, but her eyes were suddenly on his._

_She was staring directly into the camera, and Booth felt a strong surge of energy rising from his chest. He could see the uncertainty in her eyes, the curiosity as she seemed to lift the camera from its place. Her eyes stared directly into his, and he imagined that they were speaking to him. Internally he begged her to find the camera, begged her to look beneath the surface of the object she was holding. It was that moment that he saw it. It was subtle to most, but obvious to him. He had studied her face to know the expression, and when her eyes showed that slight wrinkle around her nose as she squinted just slightly at the camera, he knew she had it. He held his breath as he waited for her next move. _

_Suddenly, her face cleared, as the camera was placed back in its original position. She stared directly into the camera for just another moment longer before she proceeded to rearrange other items around it, her attention focused away from the camera now, as if she had never even seen it. She then turned, walked across the room and gathered her coat from where she had draped it on the coffee table. She walked to the door and hung the coat on the hook, and with a turn, she headed toward his bedroom._

_Booth, however didn't miss the quick grab for her phone, or the purpose in her step. Her posture was that of when she had the scent._

_Under his breath and to nobody, barely a whisper came from Booth's lips._

_"Consider yourself made, you son of a bitch."_


	19. Sky's The Limit

**Chapter 19: Sky's The Limit  
**

Angela was the first to spot Brennan walking up to the diner.

"She looks tired," the artist commented softly to her husband.

Hodgins took a brief look over his shoulder, noting that Brennan was in no hurry to get there and nodded, "Anything that involves Booth hits her hard, you know that."

"Well yeah," Angela frowned, "we all do but this time it's different." Jack arched an eyebrow, waiting for her to finish the thought, "I don't know. It's like this time they have a connection that wasn't there before, it just seems a little more intense or something."

"You think they're dating behind our backs?" his eyes bugged out as his voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper.

"I can't tell," she shook her head, then put on a wide smile as Brennan entered the diner and made her way toward them. "Good morning, Sweetie!"

Brennan attempted to return the gesture, though the couple could tell the smile didn't reach all of the way to her eyes. "Do you have the information I requested, Hodgins?"

"Sure do, Dr. B," he gave her an easy smile, "and don't worry, nobody saw me."

"Good," she gave a succinct nod, then waited for him to give her the information.

"Okay," Hodgins said after a moment's pause. He looked surreptitiously around the diner before reaching down to the his satchel on the floor, "The bad news is that Darth Hoodie had been sent to the FBI by the time I got to the lab."

"That _is_ bad," Brennan frowned. "His body could've yielded pertinent clues to our investigation."

"The body was gone," Hodgins repeated, then gave a wry smile, "but the file wasn't." He handed it over, explaining, "That's got everything we had collected so far, plus the results from the mass-spec. Ange helped me round up our virtual files too."

Brennan nodded but it was easy to tell her mind was far from the conversation as she pored through the technical notes.

"This," she laid the folder on the table and pointed to a particular finding. "This looks familiar."

She bent down and retrieved another file from her own bag, consulted it, and nodded, the faintest hint of a smile playing on her lips, "This substance was also found among the evidence we retrieved from Booth's apartment."

"What is it?" Angela wrinkled her nose, unable to interpret the scientific terms.

"Poop," Hodgins replied at the same moment Brennan said, "Excrement."

"Avian excrement to be exact," Brennan clarified.

The waitress who had come to take Brennan's order looked like theirs was the last table she wanted to be at as she quickly took the anthropologist's order and scurried back to the kitchen.

"This is no coincidence," Hodgins voice was so low they could barely hear it over the thrum of the diner's other patrons.

"Aren't there tons of different kinds of birds in DC?" Angela wondered out loud.

Brennan shook her head, "This isn't just the same _kind_ of bird. It's the same bird." She said, flipping her thumb over several pages of a 'Field Guide to North American Birds' that Hodgins had placed on the table. "At the very least, it's the same pile of excrement."

This earned Brennan yet another odd glance from their waitress as the younger girl poured the coffee and once again disappeared behind the counter.

"So maybe it can help tell us where-"

"Hey, guys! Mind if I join you?" A voice from behind shouted out, as each of them bristled at the sound of Sweets' voice.

All three of them _did_ mind, but none had the courage to deny Sweets the empty seat and all grimaced as he flagged down the waitress and made himself at home, "So what's going on?"

"Scientific inquiry," Brennan said with obvious haste as she swept the files from Sweets' line of view.

The younger man's head bobbed as if he believed her, "What's the bird book for?"

Once again it was Brennan who came up with the quickest reply, "Hodgins and I are going on an aviary expedition this afternoon."

"Oh, awesome!" Sweets gave a genuine grin. "Maybe I could tag along? I helped start a bird-watching club in college."

"This is strictly Jeffersonian business," Brennan said stiffly.

"No Feebs allowed," Hodgins gave a lopsided grin.

Sweets pouted but to no avail and the other three did a fairly reasonable job of giving him no reason to suspect they were doing anything other than planning an afternoon field trip to the woods.

"So what _are_ we going to do?" Hodgins asked once Sweets gave up and left them in peace.

"We need to determine what kind of bird excrement this is," Brennan said firmly. "The only thing this guide will help us with is selecting regions. We need to learn more about particular diets of specific birds."

"And we can't arouse any more suspicions," Angela put in.

"No lab?" Hodgins frowned.

Brennan shook her head, "We'll have to rely on public resources. Like the library."

"The library?" He scoffed, his voice lifting in pitch as he noted the serious look on her face. "Right, the library." He nodded. "When do you want to get started?"

"Now." She said, grabbing her bag, she shouldered it and started to stand up.

Angela looked to Hodgins, and to her friend. "Sweetie, sit down and have breakfast." She said quickly.

"I don't have time, Ange. We've already wasted enough time." She said, walking around the table. "Hodgins, are you coming?" She asked, turning toward the door, she didn't bother waiting for his reply.

"Hodgins…" Angela said, watching her husband's eyes carefully. "She can't keep doing this to herself, she's going to wear herself out."

"I'll get her to eat something." He said, leaning down to kiss his wife's lips. "Don't worry, I'll take good care of her." He said, grabbing his own bag, he nearly jogged outside to catch up with the quickly retreating Brennan.

* * *

_The stench of the trailer was something that Booth had slowly become used to, the smell of his own bodily fluids seemed to just be another distraction from the pain in his chest and abdomen. His arms were stiff from his constant pulling, and though the restraints on his arms were still very tight, pulling at them had done very little to offer him any relief._

_The screen had been blank for most of the morning, leaving Booth to wallow in his own filth in silence. He tried his best to feel something, anything just so that he could prove to himself that he wasn't being complacent, that he was doing everything he physically could do in order to free himself from the bonds of his captor. The sounds of the birds outside taunted him with their song, because they were free, and he was the one trapped._

_He could feel the effects of the dehydration and starvation setting in, and knew that that bottle of water that Broadsky had pushed down his throat the day before had simply been a measure to keep him alive just a little longer, not to provide any real relief to his pain or suffering._

_Time either crawled by or flew by, and between bouts of consciousness, Booth couldn't tell which was true. He could simply tell the change of day by the sun rising and the darkness of night both through the small window across from him high up on the trailer wall, and from the images that were frequently flickered across the screen. As if reading his mind, the television flashed to life._

_The picture appeared to be from far away, the camera moving with force as he listened to the radio crackle to life. "Good afternoon, Seeley. How are you feeling this afternoon?"_

_"Go to hell, Jake!" Booth exclaimed, weakly. "Go to hell."_

_"Be nice, Booth. Or I won't show you my new toy." He laughed. Booth stared at the screen, and watched as the camera shifted to a more settled position. "Look at the zoom on this scope, Booth." He said, zooming the camera closer and closer, very quickly. It was so quick, that Booth could feel his stomach twist as he focused in a familiar area. "Now let me find my target." He said, scanning the street, Booth noted the familiar gait, and let out a grunt of anger._

_"Stop calling her a target!" He growled._

_"That's what she is, Booth. There is no need to get so angry." Broadsky said._

_Booth could hear the monitor beginning to sound, indicating that his heartbeat was rising._

_"What's that I hear, Booth? Getting a little upset over there?" Broadsky taunted._

_"Shut up! Shut up, and just leave her out of this!" Booth exclaimed._

_The tone on the monitor changed, and Broadsky laughed. "You're getting into some dangerous territory, Booth." Broadsky laughed. "Don't blow yourself up just yet. You won't get to see my coup de grace." He laughed. The screen focused in even tighter on Brennan, her hand was to her ear as she talked on the phone and walked down the street. "Should I take her out now?"_

_"Stop!" Booth shouted._

_"I can take her out now… if that's what you want, Booth." He said._

_Booth watched in terror as a set of crosshairs appeared on the screen, with the readings of wind velocity and direction were noted. The tone on the monitor became more urgent._

_"Ten seconds, Booth…" Broadsky taunted. "Nine… eight…"_

_Booth listened to Broadsky's voice, the monotone sneer echoed over the radio as he focused just above Brennan's ear. Booth closed his eyes, the numbers continuing in a sick, twisted, voice, echoing through his brain as Booth attempted to focus. He tried to rid his mind of the voice, the taunting, the pain. He focused on the only thing he could think of, the color blue._

_Blue._

_If he closed his eyes tightly enough, he could see it._

_Her eyes, reflecting back at his._

_The sky, reflecting in her eyes._

_Blue._

_He felt a jolt of electricity that forced a rush of air from his lungs as he was brought back to the reality of the screen before him. The screen was still focused on Brennan, but the scope indicators were gone, and the heart monitor had slowed considerably. "Close call there, Booth." Broadsky taunted._

_Booth focused on Brennan's face, ignoring the continued taunts by his captor, keeping his eyes on her face. He could see the worry in her eyes, the fear. She looked exhausted and frustrated. He wished that he knew what she was doing, and if she were any further along on figuring out who had him. He watched her turn her head to the sky as she hung up the phone and let it fall to her side. She stood there for a moment, her eyes focused skyward, and if he didn't know her better, he'd have sworn that she was praying. He let a slight smile slip onto his lips, barely distinguishable, but it was there, and after another moment, she dropped her head to stare at the sidewalk, before she continued her march down the sidewalk._


	20. What's In A Name?

**Chapter 20: What's In A Name?**

Early afternoon stretched into the early evening as the two scientists combed the public library for anything that could help. During the first couple of hours Brennan felt a small thrill, remembering with fondness the many hours she had spent doing similar work during her undergrad years. Research had always been one of her favorite aspects of the scientific process and one of the things she had missed most when the focus of her work turned to crime solving. As the hours dragged on with no tangible results, however, the luster of the chore faded to a drudgery, made that much less appealing as Hodgins began voicing his displeasure too.

"Who organizes these things?" he was complaining now as they scanned the shelves for a specific book.

She shrugged, catching the glare from a clearly offended librarian and went back to the search.

"Ugh," disgust dripped from his tone, "this is horrible! How do people function like this?"

"Perhaps-" Brennan was about to suggest they take their search elsewhere.

"Sir," the disapproving voice cut in from behind them, "you need to keep your voice down."

"Oh really?" a furry eyebrow threatened to leave his forehead as Hodgins whirled to face the librarian.  
"Yes," the prim woman replied.

"Do you see this?" Hodgins had his wallet in hand and was opening it before Brennan could do anything to stop him.

"Your driver's license?" the librarian looked at him skeptically.

"That and this library card," Hodgins flashed another piece of plastic, "give me the right to be here. And if you people would do your jobs and shelve things properly so that it's not like looking for a needle in a haystack, I wouldn't have to get so upset!"

"Hodgins-" Brennan tried to interrupt.

"Sir, please keep your voice down or I'm going to have to ask you to leave," there was an edge to the voice now.

"I'll leave when I'm done," Hodgins told her. "Once I muddle my way through this disaster area of a shelf."

"Hodgins-"

"You may leave now," the librarian rose from her desk and moved toward them. "Or I will be forced to call the authorities."

"I'm with the authorities," Hodgins retorted. "The FBI to be exact. Maybe you've heard of them?"

By this time the three of them had attracted a small crowd and Brennan began wondering what measures she would need to take to extricate herself and her friend before things got too ugly. Fortunately as she gazed around the room her eye settled on something and she had her answer.

"I'd like to check this book out," she told the disgruntled employee, quickly moving between Hodgins and the librarian, then holding out the book they'd been looking for before the situation could degenerate any further. "Here is my card."

For a moment it looked like the other woman would press the issue with Hodgins, but she must have realized how much attention they were drawing, because she restrained herself to another fierce glare and a flick of her ponytail as she moved back behind her desk and checked the book out.

"There are several other libraries in DC you may want to use instead next time," the librarian informed Brennan. "The Jeffersonian Institute has an exceptional research library."

"I shall keep that in mind," the scientist replied with sincerity before turning to her companion. "Let's go."

Hodgins looked like he wanted to add something else but managed to refrain from making the situation any worse by remaining silent.

* * *

_The sound of light metal hitting the floor of the trailer jolted Booth into consciousness. His head bobbed, and he focused on the floor in front of him, his brain muddled with confusion. Tipping his head back, it lolled to the side, and the source of the metallic sound became apparent. His throat burned from the lack of moisture, and his stomach had nearly given up on fighting him for sustenance. _

_"Welcome back, Seeley." Broadsky sneered at his prisoner. He picked up the water bottle beside him and pressed it to his lips, guzzling down half of it. He placed it down on the table hard, making a smacking sound with his lips. He watched Booth focus on the bottle for a moment. "Thought I was going to have to waste my water." He laughed._

_"Shut up." Booth muttered, turning his head toward the television monitor, the camera was focused on his apartment again._

_"You know." Broadsky said, standing up, he walked away from what he was doing at the small table beside Booth. "I set up some pretty state of the art equipment outside of her apartment." He said with a smile that made Booth's stomach twist. "But she's been there maybe... twice." He shrugged. "Just partners." He scoffed. "She's spent every night you've been gone in your place. She leaves you a message, tells you she loves you." He laughed bitterly. "Right, you're just partners." He said, walking over to the table, he picked up a newly forged copper bullet from the table. He held it between his thumb and the tip of his forefinger, walking toward Booth. "What do you think of the tiny piece of metal that is going to rip your 'partner' to shreds?" He asked. "Maybe we can make it special... what do you say?" He asked, flipping the bullet in his hand. _

_"Just leave her the hell alone, Jake." Booth growled, and though it sounded forceful in his mind, it was much weaker than his earlier protests. The starvation and thirst was battering his body quickly, and the agony of his bonds were painful to say the least. "Just leave her alone."_

_"See... she already thinks she's alone, Booth." He smiled, stepping toward the table, he set the bullet down and bent over it for a moment. "She thinks you just took off without her. Even if she suspects something, Booth," Broadsky shrugged. "She'll be dead in a day or two... then you'll be dead." He said, standing up and turning. "It won't even matter." He shrugged. "How is this?" He asked, holding the bullet up as he walked toward Booth. "Figured that it'll mean a little more if we personalized it." He sneered, bringing the bullet into Booth's line of view._

_Booth glared at his captor for a second longer, before allowing his eyes to drop to the bullet displayed in front of him._

_And crudely etched across the long, narrow copper bullet were two simple words:_

**_'Just Partners'_**


	21. One Night More

**Chapter 21: One Night More  
**

_The pungent odor of Booth's surroundings pulled him from the half slumber that he was currently. Darkness greeted him but for the steady camera on the window of his apartment building. The radio at his side was silent, the camera still. He wondered for a moment what part of the game this was for Broadsky, how much longer he'd let him go on like this. His eyes, while on the empty apartment, quickly turned into thoughts of those connected to him personally, those at risk after he died, as inevitable as that seemed right now. _

_He thought of Parker, his boy, his pride and joy. The thought of never seeing his son again, never hearing his laugh again, never hugging him or talking to him, it tore at his very soul. He was trying his hardest to remain positive, to figure out some way to pull himself from this death chair and overcome the murderer that had stood over him only hours earlier. He pulled at the bonds on his wrists, the sharp pain of the raw flesh beneath the tape caused him to let out an angry grunt. His teeth gnashed as he controlled his breathing, and his focus was pulled to the window on the monitor._

_The light was flicked on, the apartment bathed in light. He couldn't see inside, and wondered why Broadsky's cameras weren't focused on the inside of the apartment. He listened for his captor's voice, waited for that sickening cackle to come spewing from the radio, but it never came. He was lost in his own silence in the darkness of his makeshift coffin, staring at the monitor in front of him. _

_He watched for what could have been a moment or several minutes, his focus was fading in and out from the persistent and sharp pain of starvation. He watched, enraptured by the silhouette of the person in his apartment. He figured it was Brennan, though with the silence of the radio he knew that it could be Broadsky. The mere thought sent his pulse spiking for a second or two, until he saw the feminine form of his partner in his window. The shades rose, and he watched as she stared out the window into the darkness of the city night._

_"Get away from the window, Bones." He whispered to himself, his eyes blurring slightly, he wished that he could rub his eyes with his fingertips. "Please, Bones." He whispered. He watched in agony as she reached down and fastened her fingertips under the old window pane, pulling it up, breathing in a deep breath of fresh air. "Bones." he whispered, watching her look longingly out into the street below, he silently wondered what she was thinking, and begged her internally to close the window, to find someplace safe to go, to protect herself. The longer she stood there, the more impatient he became. He gritted his teeth and began to pull at the tape on his wrists. He kicked his legs weakly, trying to free himself, pulling at the bonds holding him down. He could feel a little slack in his wrists, but there was no way for him to pull himself free. His legs hung oddly now, numb from remaining still so long. He let out an angry grunt as he made one more sharp movement, letting out a guttural shout that shook him violently. _

_He was not going to give up. He couldn't give up. He wouldn't give up, not until there was nothing more he could do. Not until Broadsky finished what he started. There was movement at the window again as Brennan stepped away for a moment. He could only see a little of what was going on just inside the window, and he could feel panic starting to mount in her absence. In just a moment or two, he was suddenly faced with a vision that he never would have expected to see._

_His partner, now stood in the window, her posture straight as a pin, as she lifted Booth's sniper rifle to a ready position. Her eye was to the scope, and he watched in rabid anticipation as she scoured the night with her finger lingering over the trigger. He had no idea if it was loaded, or if she even knew how to use the weapon, but she certainly looked ready to use it. What he did know was that his partner was a survivor, she was a genius, and that she never gave up. He knew that she was a prisoner to the truth, and she could teach herself anything. She may not have known how to fire that rifle yesterday, but with a little bit of research, Booth was confident that she'd have the knowledge of how to use it now. Math, physics, atmospheric changes and temperatures were all things that a sniper would need to know, and she had all that scientific knowledge and more on her side. She would not allow him to fade quietly into the night, so he would hold on one night more. _

* * *

She scoured her sight line with the rifle, the scope to her eye as she took it all in. The cold metal of the gun pressed against her cheek as her eyes raked over the distant rooftops. Rationally, she knew, the move was foolhardy and dangerous. From the brief visits to her apartment she knew Broadsky had it under sophisticated surveillance, and no doubt he had more than just a bugged picture frame here as well. Leaning out of Booth's window could easily make her a target. She quickly rationalized that if he wanted to take her out, he would, and that would be that. But until that moment that she breathed her last breath, she would continue to look for her partner, and leave no metaphorical stone unturned.

Regardless of the risks involved, she needed to know the sightlines. Needed to know where a potential shot could come from and what spots she should avoid. Had it been feasible to do so without arousing suspicions, she would have done this from the surrounding rooftops looking back into Booth's apartment instead. However, there was no time for that. Every moment that Booth was out of contact, was a moment wasted.

Voices met her heightened senses and she pulled her body back into the room and closed the window. She swiftly moved toward the coat closet and stowed the rifle into it before hurrying to answer Hodgins' rapid series of knocks.

"Come in," she welcomed her friends, opening the door wide as if this were her apartment and they were joining her for drinks. Hodgins was about to step inside, but his wife put her hand on his shoulder to stop him, refusing to step inside for a moment. "What?"

Angela shook her head determinedly, though, and refused any protest thrown at her. "This isn't a social call, Bren. This is a mandatory meal break involving you, me, and Hodgins." Brennan had been working too long, too hard, and was shutting herself up in this apartment far too much. They were going to go out. Going to eat and talk about anything but Booth's disappearance or the dead guy at the lab for exactly two hours.

"I know how much Booth means to you, Sweetie," Angela said quietly nodding for Hodgins to bring his car around. "But you need to give yourself this small break, okay?"

"Only two hours?" the scientist queried, looking down at her watch to confirm the time.

"Two hours," promised her friend. "Then I promise you and Hodgie can talk bird poop, and snipers, and dead guys all you want. I'll even brew the coffee I can't have and play barkeep. Jack has a great stash we can break out. And we will figure out how to find Booth and get him back as good as new and as soon as possible."

The smile didn't quite reach Brennan's eyes as she realized Angela did not mean for her to return to the apartment, but she tried, and she reasoned with herself that the Hodgins' mansion was most likely the more secure location. She took a step toward the door and stopped. "What is it, sweetie?" Angela asked.

"I need to get something." She said, walking swiftly toward the gun case behind the couch. She pulled it up onto the cushions and swung it open. She then marched toward the coat closet.

"Sweetie, you can borrow my clothes, you don't need to pack a..." Angela stopped when Brennan swung the sniper rifle around into view. "Bren, that's a gun," she stammered.

"Actually, it's a long range sniper rifle with the capacity to take out a..."

"Very large animal at a very long distance... Doctor B., if you don't mind... explaining why you're holding a very large gun next to my very pregnant wife?" Hodgins interrupted as he stepped into the room.

Brennan began dismantling the gun, ignoring the scientist's question as she packed the rifle in the case, she latched it securely and looked up at her two friends, and then to her watch. "I'll explain after our one hour, forty nine minute, and sixteen second moratorium." She said, hefting the case into her hand, she moved for the door. "Then we will discuss my plan."

* * *

**For you curious readers... the story began on a Wednesday morning... Booth was taken Thursday evening... and this update takes place on Saturday evening.**** Enjoy, read and review! :)**


	22. The Night

**Chapter 22: The Night  
**

_Sights and sounds all seemed to be hollow, empty, distorted and dark. Heavy breathing and sharp pains all over seemed to be the status quo. This is what dying was like._

_Dying._

_Slowly and painfully he was dying, and there was no focus. There was nothing to focus on, or focus with, for everything blended together. The chirping crickets were quickly replaced by the sound of singing birds, and for all Booth could tell, it was the sound of death calling for him._

_He had been tortured in the past, captured by enemies and brought to his knees by whippings, beatings, red hot metal being forced into his body. He had been tied up, shackled, shot, shot at, among other things in both the military and his time as an FBI agent. He was an experienced man, and his life had been in jeopardy on multiple occasions. This time though, this time it just felt different. It felt permanent._

_It felt like the end._

_His eyes were still closed, at least that was his impression of the room around him. The monitors were off, for there was no light filtering in through his eyelids. There may have been light as the sun made its appearance in the sky outside of the trailer, but he never noticed, for he simply faded back into his own darkness once again._

_He saw visions of blue, and familiar voices, a cool rush of air over him, and then replaced by the stuffy humidity of his box of death once more. There was no strength to be had, for it had all drained away with the darkness, and lack of food and water. There was an echo of a voice, a dark and angry voice followed by a sharp movement of his head. Perhaps he had been slapped, or perhaps it just felt like he had been slapped. He couldn't tell._

_Brennan's eyes haunted him, that look on her face in the window of his apartment as she scanned the night sat in the corner of his mind. If anyone could take out Broadsky, it would be her. If she had any idea of where to find the trained sniper, if they had any idea that he was even alive, or if the effort was simply an attempt at salvation. If they knew he was alive at this point, however, he doubted that they'd make it to him in time._

_He mumbled for her to fight, and he could still hear the angry voice around him, but he chose to ignore it, chose to instead talk to the only person he wanted to talk to._

_"Just kill him." Booth whispered between cracking lips. "Just murder him. Kill him. Make him suffer." Booth muttered. He never thought he'd mutter those words and mean it as much as he did at this moment. He felt another sharp blow to his head, but it didn't stop his mantra, it only fed his desire for Broadsky's demise. "Kill him." He growled. "Kill him, Bones." He whispered._

_He felt one more blow before passing out, and his eyes opened for just a moment, focusing on the vision of his apartment bathed in the glow of the sun. It was day time again, and the last thing he heard Broadsky say echoed in his mind as the door to the trailer slammed shut in his wake._

_"Tonight is the night."_

* * *

"Sweetie, we've talked about this," Angela said for what felt like the hundredth time that afternoon as the trio ambled away from the Founding Fathers bar.

Angela and Hodgins had been with her for most of the day working on several different scenarios involving Booth's kidnapping, and they felt that they had some leads that they were nearly ready to put into motion. In the meantime, they tried their best to distract the forensic anthropologist from her deepest concerns, and had even managed to round up a fair number of their co-workers, including Brennan's squinterns for an early dinner. But still, the unspoken knowledge of who was not with them had woven a tension through the early evening that could not be shaken off. Nor could Brennan's desire to go back to Booth's apartment for the night.

"And I've given several rebuttals to your argument," Brennan's jaw was set in a way Hodgins noticed only came out when she believed Booth to be in mortal peril. He was also aware that his wife's argument was invalid in Brennan's eyes, and that anything Angela said at this point would be refuted.

"So you _know_ that there is a mad killer on the loose, and you_ know_ he's kidnapped Booth, and you also _know_ he could take you out any time?" the agitated artist's arms waved wildly through the night air. "And we're supposed to what? Let you walk right into the lion's den?"

"I know what I'm doing," Brennan remained steadfast. "Have you ever known me to act irrationally?" She asked, walking quickly toward Hodgins' car.

"Normally?" Angela shook her head. "Normally you are very rational, sweetie, but it's the Booth angle that I'm worried about here. I know that for him, you'd move heaven and earth to do what you could." She paused. "Even if that doesn't make sense to you, it's true, Bren." Angela said, trying her best to keep up with her.

Brennan stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, just shy of where they'd parked and turned to her friends, her gaze moving from one to the other until she settled on Angela and spoke with quiet fervency, "I love Booth." She said, the determination in her voice made it waver just slightly, but her eyes held strong. "I've known this for quite some time, and I believe he loves me as well, though he's never said so outright." She sucked in a deep breath and shook her head, not allowing herself to slip into the emotional trap she was setting herself up for. She released the breath and sighed. "Nevertheless, I know that were our roles reversed Booth would do everything in his power to ensure my safe return. I can do no less for him. The evidence against Broadsky is damning, Angela," she went on. "I am certain beyond a shadow of a doubt that the metaphorical net is closing in on him. I _need_ to be in Booth's apartment. To be close to him in that sense. If Broadsky is watching me, then I can't break from my pattern. If he does have Booth, and he's watching me, and I make a wrong move, he might kill Booth. We've done what we can tonight, and tomorrow morning we're going to make our move, just like we discussed." She shook her head and swallowed hard. "Please trust that what I'm doing, I'm doing for Booth to bring him back." She stopped, then added with a raw edge to her voice, "He _has_ to come back."

Angela could feel the chilling tone in her friend's voice, and knew that there was no sense arguing. She was tired herself, and not sleeping well simply out of concern for Booth and for Brennan. She trusted Brennan's instincts, even if they were clouded by the love she felt for her partner. Angela turned to her husband and could see that he had concluded the same thing. "Let's take her to Booth's place," she said softly, resigned to the fact that she had no basis for her argument, and hoping upon hope that her friend was right, and that all of them - including Booth - would make it through one more night.


	23. Sic Semper Fidelis

**Chapter 23: Sic Semper Fidelis**

The tension when the trio reached Booth's apartment was palpable but to Brennan's surprise and relief Angela merely gave her a hug and said goodbye with no allusions to their previous debate. Relieved that she had been saved from another argument, she entered the apartment with a near hopeful abandon, though the fear of someone lurking in the shadows was never far from her mind. She was well aware that she was being watched, and was unsure if he knew that she was keen to that awareness. Instead of arousing suspicions by being away another night, she chose to remain in plain sight, with half a hope that her presence would bring Broadsky out of hiding.

~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x

His breathing was keeping time with the heart monitor, and his focus was on the small red button on the bottom of the screen in front of him. He thought for a moment he could hear Brennan's voice like a gentle whisper that tickled the inside of his ear. He let out a pain filled whimper, sucking in the small drop of saliva that had somehow slid over his lower lip. He swallowed it as if that tiny drop of spittle would be able to quench his unimaginable thirst. He felt it slide down his throat, though it seemed to lose its direction and slip into his windpipe, causing Booth to begin to cough.

His coughs were dry and wracking, and he could feel his cracked lips and sore throat throbbing as his ribs rattled. After a moment he was able to catch his breath and his eyes managed to focus on the screen. The red light on the bottom of the monitor turned blue, and suddenly the screen flickered to life. Booth was unsure if the camera was moving, or if it was simply his perception of the way things were in his addled mind. His head lolled to the side, and back again, as if moving with the unfocused camera as it zoomed rapidly to his apartment and its environs.

The radio crackled, and Broadsky's voice echoed through the hollow air, garbled by an uncaught breath as he readied himself on his perch. Booth tried to pay attention to his voice, as he spoke through the crackling static, but with the faint whisper he spoke with, and the growl in his voice, Broadsky's voice was barely audible. The visions on the screen moved almost violently as Broadsky readied his gun, his voice droning over the radio in a sadistic tone.

Focus on the 'target' was obscured by the closed curtain, but a form could be seen moving in the apartment. The familiar silhouette of his partner was all that he could bear to focus on, as she slowly paced the room.

~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x

If there was one thing Brennan hated to do it was waiting. Waiting for the timing to be right. Waiting for all of the cogs she had put in motion to begin doing their jobs. Waiting. With nothing to do but wait. Since the day she'd occupied Booth's apartment she'd already cleaned every visible surface area in it and was now anxious enough to contemplate cleaning the rest.

Stop she mentally scolded herself, forcing her legs to halt mid-stride. Pacing the room was not helping. She thought about Booth and Broadsky and the type of mentality it took to rise to the caliber that they had in their chosen field. A sniper without patience was a dead sniper.

As she poured a drink of scotch she reminded herself that she was fully capable of focusing for long periods of time on human remains when the occasion called for it. She was excellent at her job, just as Booth was at his and if either of them wanted to continue doing the jobs they did so well she was going to need to learn to focus even where there was nothing tangible to focus on.

The first sip from the tumbler ran a line of fire down her throat. As her head tilted back for a second round, however, her eye caught sight of something and she stopped. A few droplets of the liquor sloshed onto her hand as she set the drink down on the table and scooped up her cell phone from where it lay on the floor.

Unconsciously she traced her fingers over the screen until Booth's smiling face was in front of her. Walking toward the window she mused that perhaps there was something she could do while she was waiting after all, even if it was for her own peace of mind. Pulling up the curtain, and opening the window in one fluid motion, she stood in the window before the blackness of the night, before giving in and pressing the call button.

~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x

The taunting voice of Broadsky continued to ring in his ear. It was as if he was goading Brennan to make a move, begging her to reveal herself enough to give him a clear shot. He didn't want to turn on the thermal imaging, he wanted Booth to see her fall, he wanted Booth to feel her pain. He wanted Booth to die when she died, as if that bullet were piercing his heart or brain, and not his partner's.

Booth heard Broadsky whisper her name under his breath. He didn't call her a target, didn't call her 'Doctor Brennan'. He called her Temperance.

Again and again, he whispered her name, until Booth couldn't take it anymore. "STOP!" Booth screamed. "Stop saying her name!" He shouted. He knew that if Broadsky could humanize her to kill her, that this was exactly what Booth knew it to be, not vindication for any of her wrongs. It wasn't retaliation for shooting him on that rooftop, or for being involved in Paula's death. He was proving to Booth that he was a cold blooded murderer. "Stop!" Booth exclaimed again, feeling his heart pounding in his chest, the monitor began to alarm, and Broadsky cackled over the radio. He closed his eyes and whimpered her name, begging silently for Broadsky to stop. He pictured her face, her eyes again, those bluer than blue orbs. He thought of all of the things he wanted to say to her, all of the things he wanted to tell her, as the alarm slowly stopped.

When he opened his eyes again, she was at the window, the curtain pulled up, the window frame beneath her fingers as she pulled it up to bare herself completely to the night air. If he didn't know any better, he'd say she was baiting Broadsky, putting herself out there for him. He tried to focus on her as the camera wavered, and he watched her stare thoughtfully at her phone.

There was a moment of complete silence, a moment where everything just seemed to stop for him, as she lifted the phone to her ear.

Then it was broken.

Booth jumped at the sound of the phone ringing on the table next to him, the familiar ring tone shouted in his ear violently. His head lolled to the side, the light from the phone calling to him along with the familiar ring, but was much too far from his reach. He let out a resounding groan, that quickly melted into a childish whimper, as his focus moved back to the screen. It wasn't as if it was the first call that had roused him in the days of his imprisonment, and it wasn't the volume of the ring. It was that ring tone, her ring tone. She was calling him, she was holding to that hope, that prayer, that faith, that he was alive, that he would pick up that phone and answer her call.

He was no longer focusing on the venomous threats and taunting words of his captor, instead, Booth was focusing on Brennan's lips. The moment the phone stopped ringing, he watched her, watched to see what she was going to do.

Booth held his breath.

"- going to take that pretty little thing out." Broadsky sneered.

Brennan straightened herself in the frame of the window, her eyes focusing out into the darkness, and after a moment, she spoke into the phone. Her eyes seemed glassy, not as if she were crying, but as if she were slightly inebriated. She looked unnaturally relaxed, her shoulders less tense than they had been only moments before, and instead of that sickening voice slipping into the room, he imagined her voice. He could hear the soft lilt of her voice trickling through the line, smooth as silk.

"Booth."

It was all she said at first, and he could see the gentle pause as he listened to his own breathing, labored and shallow.

"Booth."

She said again. He imagined it sounded similar to that moment he had a gun pointed at her father, that moment where she needed him to think, needed him to stop. That desperate, quiet begging sound her voice made to him that day as she fought to ask him not to shoot Max, to let him escape. He focused on her lips, the movement of them as she began to speak, and for a moment the only thing he could hear was her voice in his mind.

"Booth, I... am afraid." She admitted. "I don't think I have ever been so afraid in my life. Not... afraid of dying, I am not afraid of dying. I am almost willing to say that I am afraid of living. I don't want the last time I hear your voice to be on a machine. I don't want to live, knowing that you were out there, and I couldn't save you."

Booth could feel the pain in his chest, his heart squeezing tightly as she spoke.

"We have a plan, and I know I am being watched. I know that it is Broadsky. I just needed..."

He watched her pause for a moment, and he could see in her eyes that the glassy look in her eyes was not from the liquor, but from the tears that she was holding back. He watched her bite her lower lip, her eyes close as a tear escaped.

"I just needed to hear your voice. I don't know why, I don't care why..."

Suddenly her expression turned defiant, and she swiped the tear from her cheek stubbornly.

"I am sorry, Booth. I hope you can forgive me for what I am about to do, for what I've already done." She said, closing her eyes. She took a deep breath before she whispered the last three words into the phone, the last three words he could hear in her voice, in his mind, as he wished that he could weep with her. "I love you."

"What?" Booth suddenly shouted, his voice hoarse and not his own. "What did you do?" He exclaimed. "What are you going to..."

He could see her pull the phone from her ear, placing it on the window sill as she leaned forward. All he could imagine was that she was going to jump from the window, and in his jumbled and broken thoughts, it seemed like a possibility. She leaned forward out the window, her eyes staring off into the distance, and she closed her eyes.

"NO!" Booth screamed.

"Yes!" Broadsky shouted through the radio. "Here we go, Booth! Are you ready?" He sneered.

"No! No!" He screamed as loudly as he could, struggling with every ounce of strength he had left, as the alarms attached to his body screamed a warning.

"In the immortal words of a distant relative of yours... Sic Semper Tyr-"

But the word never came.

The trailer went dark but for the snow that filled the screen in front of him. The last thing he heard was the alarms sounding their final warning before emitting a single, long note. Pain blossomed in his chest and the world went black.


	24. Nothing Happens Unless First A Dream

**Chapter 24: Nothing Happens Unless First A Dream  
**

_As the soft, somber music echoed through the halls of the church, the gentle sound of a woman crying could be heard. A cold breeze slipped through the open door, and the skittering of absent leaves slipped in unnoticed at the heels of the person entering through the doors of the church. Footsteps echoed emptily on the wooden floor, and the creaks were loud and unruly against the soft lull of the church's pipe organ. The pews were empty but for the figure of a woman sitting in the front row, dressed in black, her head bowed in mourning as she cried softly into her handkerchief._

_The funeral had ended nearly a half hour earlier, with sentiments of love and loss for the departed, and all that remained from the ceremony were the two square boxes that were perched atop a small table at the altar. Encased in mahogany, covered by a thin drape of satin, their ashes settled within, as the organ music droned on around them. This was not the church ceremony that friends and family were hoping for, not the joyous occasion that their loved ones had pictured for the partners. Instead of the joining of their lives together, they were instead being joined together in death, side by side at the altar._

_The man who had entered the church sat beside the woman, his head bowing in respect for the dead. He leaned forward and knelt, clasping his hands together. Neither person acknowledged the presence of the other, quietly mourning in their own way. Alone but together, the two sat peacefully with the remains of two lives cut short by a man too cowardly to be present at either of their deaths. Instead, he stood in the background, taunting and threatening, giving himself enough distance to make the whole scenario seem unreal to him._

_She had died with his name on her lips, and he of a shattered heart. One that couldn't bear to live in a world without the other, they had paid the ultimate price for their risks._

_The church remained empty but for the man and woman, until the entrance of two people through the back door. Heads bowed in respect, they approached the two boxes slowly. Their hands latched to the handles of the boxes, and they turned to carry them down the central aisle toward the door, as if involved in some sort of morbid parade. Standing in unison, the man and woman slowly followed the procession of the boxes from the church, their hands entwining gently as they pushed their way outside into the blustery wind._

_The weather outside, like Booth and Brennan's relationship, was equal parts turbulence and and eerie calm. It was as if God Himself couldn't decide whether or not to be happy or sad for them, together at last, if only in death._

_The bearers of the remains walked down the path toward the graveyard behind the church, and toward the columbarium. The indoor memorial wall was set within the finely landscaped lawn, and the pastor stand waiting patiently along with the family and friends of the deceased. The man and woman fell into line with the rest of the group, dropping their hands to their sides for a moment as the pastor began to speak of the partners warmly once again._

_Max and Russ were in attendance, their eyes twinkling with unshed tears. Angela then grasped tightly to her husband's hand once again, her fingers wound tightly around his, as she kept a handkerchief pressed against her nose and mouth while she allowed herself to sob openly. Parker stood straight and sharp beside his mother, his eyes watching every movement of the boxes as he stared longingly at the brass plate on its front, bearing his father's name. He fought back tears bravely, grasping the American flag that had been given to him during the funeral procession earlier with a white knuckled grip. Even Caroline openly wept. The loss of both friends and colleagues had taken its toll on her strong heart and there was no sense in holding back. Sweets kept his eyes downcast as Daisy gently rubbed his arm, her eyes focused on the pastor as she refused to look to the boxes. Cam held tightly to Michelle, her arm draped lovingly over her daughter's shoulder, as the teenager fought back tears, showing the strength that she could, while others around them continued to cry for their lost friends._

_One set of eyes remained dry, however. The onlooker was not family, not a friend. In fact, the cold, stern look on his face was a glaring reflection of the anger that he felt deep in his soul. His teeth gritted with distaste for the people who mourned the fallen, and the small smile that crept onto his lips was laced with self satisfaction. Mixed with family and friends, he went unnoticed, simply because of the intensity of the sadness that surrounded him. He stood silently as each person paid their final respects to the deceased, walking past the boxes as they left the columbarium supporting one another every step of the way. Reveling silently in his victory._

_And as the somber parade marched off to seek whatever solace they could find in one another, each one could swear they heard in the passing wind, a single name called out over and over, never to be answered._

_"Bones."_


	25. Not Quite The End

**Chapter 25: Not Quite The End  
**

The name was whispered on dry and cracked lips again and again, so softly that the first time she heard it she wasn't sure that it actually came from the man in the bed. Curled on the stiff and scratchy couch in the corner of the room, she craned her neck to see him. His lips were moving and her name was slipping from his tongue effortlessly. She shifted on the couch, feeling the cool sheet fall to the wayside as she pushed it off her legs and stood slowly.

He was crying again.

Tears rolled down his cheek, one after another, though he remained asleep.

More than anything she wanted to reach out and assure him that he was safe and secure. That he was no longer a prisoner. The sedatives combined with his physical condition, however, kept him trapped in whatever nightmare was causing the tears and she could play no other role than helpless onlooker.

The rational part of her brain knew this was a rather lopsided and overly dramatic view of the situation. Since staging his rescue twenty-four hours ago she had done everything possible to make sure that he saw the best doctors, received the best treatment, all while keeping his superiors at the FBI along with members of the press at bay. She'd seen to it that Rebecca, Hank, and Jared were apprised of the situation and assured them each that she would continue to update them on Booth's progress. Hodgins and Angela had helped her where they could and offered her emotional support when she'd admitted to needing it. Which hadn't been often.

A quiet sigh escaped her lips as she mentally made a list of everything that needed to be accomplished still. Her voicemail was laden with messages from Cam, Sweets, Caroline, and others who were only now realizing what had been done on Booth's behalf. Even more emails from coworkers and acquaintances were in her inbox awaiting her reply. And then there were the law enforcement officers waiting just down the hallway waiting none too patiently for her to give her statement, but giving her space out of deference to Booth and the rumor that Brennan alone could chew them up and spit them out without a second thought if they pushed too hard.

She didn't know where to begin.

Knuckles rapped softly on the door even as the handle turned and swung it open quietly. The man put one cautious sneaker across the threshold until he received the brief nod to proceed. No words were exchanged between them but none were necessary. His eyes flicked to Booth's unconscious form as he forked over the no-fat, low-carb soy latte he'd picked up from some hoity-toity coffee place on his way in.

"Any change?"

She shook her head and sipped at the liquid, ignoring the fact that it was scalding her throat on the way down.

"Well, no news is good news, right?"

She'd never subscribed to that notion before, nor did she ever think too highly of people who employed it and she glared at the man until he raised his hands in silent surrender, offering a paper sack as penance.

Her nostrils flared at the scent of warm cinnamon and sugar.

"Breakfast of champions," her father quipped before settling onto the couch she'd recently abandoned. "Go on and eat 'em while they're fresh. Then you can head home for a bit."

She was glaring daggers at him again even as she broke a small piece of the treat off and chewed it. Home had not been her apartment since Booth had gone missing and her father knew that as much as he knew there was no way in hell she was leaving the hospital until Booth woke up.

To his credit, Max said nothing until she'd finished eating. He then proceeded to make a quiet, but fully logical argument for her going home at least to shower and change. As they had so often over the last day her eyes moved to Booth as she weighed her options. His face was a mask of serenity now, with no signs of the distress he'd recently been in, while the heart monitor beeped steady and strong. He was in the capable hands of the doctors and nurses and she knew that time was the only thing he needed to recover fully; time in which he would be unconscious and unaware of whether she was present or not.

"Go," Max ordered her gently, herding her toward the door. "I'll keep an eye on your G-man for you."

-

Darkness surrounded him. Darkness and a cloud of mist that seemed to swallow him into its nothingness. He was aware, but unaware, floating in a place that had no cause for alarm, but no hope for reconciliation. Pain was a distant memory, though somewhere in his drug addled mind, he knew that it wasn't far from the surface.

Sounds faded in and out, voices, noises, an odd pulsing sound could also be heard, though it had no place in his memory or mind at that particular moment. The soft blur of dream and sound melded together in an integration of sounds and light, mental pictures that both frightened him and angered him as he tried to break through the thick, smokeless fire that penetrated each and every thought and movement.

His lack of focus was broken by the incessant beeping, the drone of the something keeping pace with his breaths as each second passed. His mind was still in another place, though was rapidly becoming aware of the sound. His heart began to race, his mind began to chase it. Recognition snapped.

Heart monitor. He was attached to a heart monitor.

A vision flashed in his mind of the box in the corner of the trailer, and the monitor began to race. He wanted to scream out, but found his voice was lost, he tried to fight, tried to break free of the bonds that held him, feeling nothing but resistance.

He struggled, remembering the darkness of the trailer, the moment it all went black, the moment he watched his partner lean out of that window as if she was sacrificing herself for him.

"No!" He screamed in his mind, listening to the monitor squeal angrily in reply. "Bones, No!"

He counted down the seconds, trying to calm himself, but finding the bonds on his wrists had increased only caused the panic in his chest to squeeze at his chest. The sharp, ever increasing pain spread from his chest to his arms, his muscles stiffening as he fought against the bonds of his restraint.

Twisting and pulling at the restraint on his arms, he screamed her name over and over. The sound of her voice pushed through the growing panic, pushed through the physical upheaval.

Her voice.

One.

She was there.

Two.

Right there.

Three.

Dream, it was a dream, a nightmare. She was dead. Broadsky took her.

Four.

Still, her voice pushed through the cloud, and his heart rate began to calm.

Five.

Like a brittle stick with too much pressure, his panic was snapped.

Six.

She was gone, this wasn't her voice. He was dead, floating in a dark and pain filled limbo.

Seven.

He mourned her loss, but her voice continued. It continued counting, higher and higher it counted and with each rising number, his body relaxed just a little more, listening to the gentle rhythm of her voice until the sound of the monitor disappeared. The delicate recitation of a count that ended at fifteen. He was drifting now, back into the darkness, when he heard her whisper, clearly and so close to him that he could feel her warm breath whisk across his cheek.

"I can't lose you, Booth."

The dark clouds parted slightly, enough to let just a sliver of light in. He could hear his breathing now, something that he hadn't heard for days. He could feel his heart beating in his chest, pounding with a vigor that seemed different from earlier, less desperate. He felt a warmth on his brow, soft and tender lips against his skin, and a soft hand on his cheek.

He could feel that, and it was not filled with pain or regret. It was real.


	26. Confront and Comfort

**Chapter 26: Confront and Comfort  
**

Brennan could feel her hands trembling against his cheek, her lips softly caressing the faint stubble that lined his jaw. She pressed her forehead against his for a moment, whispering a gentle, calming mantra that was meant for herself, as well as her partner. His heart rate had returned to normal, and his intense struggling had ceased. He now rested quietly in the bed, his chest rising and falling slowly, his face no longer contorted with pain and fear. His lips were parted just slightly, and he rested what seemed to be comfortably. Brennan's eyes remained on his sleeping form for several moments.

"Is he okay?" Max asked, though when his daughter turned her attention toward him, he could see the rage in her eyes.

"You left him." She said, her hand still on Booth's cheek for a moment, looking at his eyes to see if there was any sign of him waking. She stood straight and faced her father fully. "You said you would be here."

"I stepped out to talk to the doctor, Tempe." Max said, resisting the urge to suggest that she calm down. He was more than versed in her penchant for attitude when it came to Booth's well being. However, even his silence was met with a great deal of scorn.

"You said you were going to stay here with him." She growled in a lowered voice, the fire in her eyes burning brightly. "I trusted you to stay here with him. I only left because you said you'd be here, and I came back and he was in the middle of a nightmare..." She trailed, allowing her voice to rise in pitch as well as volume.

"I know." Max said, keeping his answers short and simple. "He's resting now."

"Of course he's resting now. But he could have hurt himself, he could have been injured further, and you weren't in here, to..."

"Shh..." A soft, whistle of air was released from the bed beside them, but Brennan was far too involved in her argument to take notice at the moment.

"… to keep him comforted. I don't expect someone to be here all of the time, but when his pulse is rising, and the machine is going off, I at least expect you to acknowledge that he's in some kind of distress, dad." She continued her angry rant directed at Max.

"Shh..." The voice tried again.

"I'm just trying to make sure you don't get hurt, Booth." Brennan said, regarding the man in the bed for a split second as she turned her attention back to Max. "I'm sure these nightmares aren't good for his mental state, and they are relatively easy to stop, but only if someone is here to comfort him, and clearly, you're not ready to..." She stopped mid sentence. Her eyes remained on her father for a moment, but Max's attention moved to the bed.

"Keep it down." A voice rasped from the bed, dark eyes staring directly at Max for a moment. Booth could see his partner's figure through his blurry vision, blinking again and again as he tried to clear it. He wasn't sure if he was actually seeing her, or if it was simply just another dream. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest, and he was pretty sure that it was her voice that had lifted him from the thick fog in his mind. He wanted to believe she was standing there. He wanted to trust his mind to tell him that she was still alive, but found that instead, he was attempting to convince himself that he was wrong.

Then she spoke to him.

"Booth?" His name cracked off of her lips and her blue eyes were digging into his soul. Deep and penetrating, he could feel the warmth of her heart through the short distance that separated them. His eyes were squinting, but she could see the darkness of them trying to focus on her, and the way his brow was furrowed, she could tell he was straining to make sense of the situation. "Booth, it's me." She said, afraid to touch him, afraid to startle him. Brave as she had been to save him, she was like a frightened child at this very moment, terrified that the hope that she had built up would crumble beneath her fingertips. "Booth?"

"Bones?"

His voice was unrecognizable, grating. His eyes squinted further. They became wetter with the passing seconds, filling with tears, closing. He sucked in, and released a ragged breath.

"Booth?" She whispered louder, afraid that he would slip back into unconsciousness; she touched his arm in reflex. "Booth, please." She begged. Her warm hand covered his bandaged arm.

With her touch, his eyes opened again, wider than a moment earlier, almost stunned. "You're alive?" He whispered, his tongue running over his dry lips.

"So are you." She whispered back, leaning forward. She placed her hand on his cheek, and rested her forehead on his, allowing her own tears to fall, mixing with his, they shared their relief together in a moment of silence.

* * *

-  
If he closed his eyes, he could almost visualize the way his rescue had occurred. Different people had different levels of enthusiasm, concern, and anger for the entire situation, but it made him aware of those who cared for him the most. Once he was conscious for an extended period of time, everyone needed to express their happiness over his return, and the odds that he had overcome. The memories of his peril were sharp in some respects, but others only tortured him in the form of vivid nightmares that he rarely remembered.

When he had first woken up, his arms were strapped securely to the bed. Brennan had explained that the reasoning for this restraint was due to the damage to his wrists from the tape that had bound him. She explained that his skin had been torn away, muscle and bone was literally exposed, and needed time to heal properly. The fear of infection was high, so they were kept covered, and his arms strapped to reduce movement in his sleep.

His back was badly burned from the contacts that Broadsky had used and he'd been severely dehydrated and malnourished. His broad shoulders sagged with weariness in the bed, and the weakness in his muscles and bones that the stress of this torture had caused was ever present.

Brennan had been the one by his side when he awoke, and had been at his side each time he had woken since then. Sometimes she'd be sleeping, or talking to another guest, other times she'd be working. He had woken up on multiple occasions with the sound of her voice in his ear, calming him from the terror of the nightmares that continually gripped him.

It seemed through all of the many telling of the story, the only person that had all of the facts was his partner. She explained to him that Angela had been able to trace the signal from the camera in the picture frame. Covertly, in the hallway of the apartment, she had arranged some of her equipment, and managed to focus on a radius level from the device. She explained Hodgins' role in the discovery of Broadsky's makeshift prison; though the bug man had done a thorough job of spinning his own tale of bird excrement and particulate puzzle solving. And while Booth played up the gruff image and poked fun, in truth he was very thankful toward all of his squints.

What surprised him most once he put all of the pieces of the puzzle together was not that it had been Brennan who engineered the plot, but that Max had been the one to pull the trigger on Broadsky. In a risk that Booth still wasn't comfortable with having witnessed, they had timed the attack precisely so that by the time Brennan made her call to Booth, Max was already in position to take Broadsky out.

What she said in the phone call was on a whim, and her complete confidence was in her father. She knew that this was their last chance, and she needed to risk everything she had left to get the one thing she needed.

Max had located Broadsky's position using radio detection techniques, and aerial reconnaissance provided by Angela and Cam at the lab. They took their positions, and Brennan stood at the window, her last hand dealt as she dialed the phone.

She had heard the shot in the night, and that split second had been shadowed with an almost paralyzing relief that she was still standing at the window. Her phone rang in her hand, startling her, and when she answered the call, the only words she heard through the static were 'it's done.'

The use of Booth's rifle to take out the man was simply a footnote in the death of Broadsky, and Caroline said that based on the video at the time of the death, Brennan was off the hook. Max had a solid alibi as well thanks to some video magic by a few resourceful squints. Nobody questioned it, for the sheer relief that this mad man was off the streets was enough to pull focus from the death to the rescue.

Booth's rescue was hastened by an 'anonymous' tipster, who had put all of the information about where Booth was being held into the right hands and within a half an hour he had been located. The forensic evidence that Hodgins had obtained from the clothes of their first victim didn't hurt either.

The rescue was quick and emotional, as the FBI immediately began to collect information and evidence against Broadsky. Booth was unconscious but breathing, barely. He lay like a ragdoll on the gurney, blood caked onto his wrists and ankles, the remaining clothes were stripped from his body revealing the contact burns, the bruises, and the toll that the dehydration and malnutrition were taking on his body. Brennan was there, though he didn't know it, and though she wished that she could shout orders to help him, she found herself completely speechless.

Her eyes never left his body, her focus was completely on him, and though she tried to stay out of the way of the EMTs, she couldn't help but reach out and touch his skin, just to remind herself that he was still alive. When she found her voice, she spoke to him softly, moving to the head of the gurney on their ride to the hospital, cradling his face in her hands as she kissed his forehead, allowing her tears to spill unprejudiced across his skin as she whispered her love for him on the long trek to the hospital. She knew that he wouldn't remember her words to him, and she didn't consciously care. She needed to say them, and say them with his flesh beneath her fingertips, not simply to his voice over the phone.

It wasn't until they were alone in the car driving him home from the hospital that Brennan had divulged how the chain of command in the operation to save his life was from squints to the FBI, and not the other way around. And though he was disturbed by how easy it was for his colleagues to allow him to drop from radar, it didn't surprise him that those closest to him would know the truth and keep digging.

"Wow," Booth remarked as she held his front door open for him and they walked through into his apartment, "you really spruced the place up!"

A hint of color spread across her cheeks, and she was happy he couldn't see her as he limped over to the couch and sunk down into it, "Thanks. Can I get you anything?"

"Beer?" he asked hopefully, his eyebrow lifted with a bit of a wince when he saw her expression.

With a sad smile she shook her head, "Considering how your body interacts with certain medications, adding alcohol would be unwise."

"Right," he grunted, eyeing the bottles of medication in the bag she had set on his end table.

Brennan offered to get some water instead and hurried off to the kitchen. For the first time Booth took a good look around his living room. Brennan had certainly been hard at work cleaning the place up to make him feel at home, and he was grateful for her thoughtfulness. Unable to sit any longer he got up slowly.

"You should be resting," she scolded, setting their glasses of water down on two coasters on his coffee table, she turned and followed his ambling form with her gaze.

"I'll rest when I'm dead," he quipped, then thought better of it. He turned to see the almost surprised expression on her face and smiled sheepishly. "Er, at night I mean. I'll rest tonight."

He continued his walk around the perimeter of the room, pausing to look out the window into the city. The last time he'd seen this view it had been through the lens of a camera, through the scope of a rifle. The last time he had seen this window, his partner stood in full view of the dangers outside. For a moment, he became sullen, swallowing the pain in his throat, he could feel the rapid pace of his heart. Abruptly he turned away, noting that his partner was watching him closely. "I don't like that you made yourself a target." He whispered darkly.

"It was for you." She whispered.

He said nothing, walking instead to the line of photo frames that had been neatly dusted recently. The frame that had led to his rescue was nowhere in sight but he did spot a new picture.

"Don't you think this is a little creepy, Bones?" he turned the picture of her holding the conch shell toward her. "The guy was stalking you at the time."

"Broadsky may have meant it for evil," she shrugged, "but there is a sort of poetic quality about it and I like it. Don't you?"

He looked down at it once again and couldn't help the smile that curved on his lips at her upturned face, so soft and open. His eye caught something else on the photo ledge and he set the frame down gently, scooping the other objects up, "What are you boys doing here?"

Beside him, her cheeks tinged with pink, her hand darting out to snatch the two figurines from his hand.

"Uh uh," he shook his head, closing his hand and putting the figures up to his ear. "Jasper and Brainy say they have something important to tell me."

A pair of rolled eyes was all he got in response.

"What's that?" he addressed the pig and the Smurf. "You say Bones just let you move in while I was gone?" He moved them as if they were replying, "Oh yeah, don't worry, I haven't forgotten that."

"Forgotten what?" she asked, far too curious to take note she was responding to a fictional conversation.

"Just some unfinished _relationship_business you and I have to discuss," shrugged Booth casually.

"Oh really," her eyebrows reached her bangs, "and how will this discussion end?"

"I think you know," he responded, setting the figurines down to free his hand to clasp hers.

"Perhaps you should draw me a diagram," she threw him a saucy smile, tugging him gently until their hips made contact.

"Any time, partner," he winked. "Any time."

"Just partners?" she asked wryly, her breath puffing softly against his skin.

"We never have been, Bones," he cupped her jaw in his unbandaged hand, "and we never will."

* * *

**The end.**

**Thank you for reading... We appreciate comments and thoughts, and stay tuned... We may be done with this fic, but we're definitely going to be working together on another one really soon! :)**

Love and Sid,

Gum (Thnx4thegum) and PJ (GcatsPjs) :)


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